


Wilted Flower

by HellenARTworkS



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime)
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Graphic Description, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Vomiting, mentions of bodily functions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-05-18 03:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14844578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HellenARTworkS/pseuds/HellenARTworkS
Summary: She used to love Moominmamma's hugs. They were warm, protective, safe. But she wasn't holding her treasured Toffle, now. She was no longer precious, no longer worthy. She wasn't holding a child anymore. She was holding a tainted, rotten waste.She should've ran, should've left, should'veknownhe was dangerous.Moominvalley was a safe haven for all. Moominvalley was a land of peace.Nothing butlies.





	1. Concealment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Doceo_Percepto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doceo_Percepto/gifts), [Sp00py](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sp00py/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Flower Garland](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14836463) by [HellenARTworkS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HellenARTworkS/pseuds/HellenARTworkS). 



> And in the end, I've done it. I've started it.  
> This sequel to the one-shot posted not too long ago was inspired by the questions and conjectures offered in the reviews.
> 
> >>> "She's never going to feel the same again. Poor Snufkin, he's going to be so so upset."  
> >>> "Poor little Toffle. This will really mess her up. It'd mess up most anyone, honestly, but she's so shy and only just venturing out. I like to think she'll be able to recover, but it'd make sense if not, too."
> 
> I could not help but feel their doubts, and wonder the same things: would she manage to recover? How would the others react upon seeing her changing so suddenly? How would the others react if they _knew_?
> 
> I'm so weak.
> 
> Like its prequel, this fiction's themes, contents and Universe have very similar features to @Doceo_Percepto's and @Sp00py's headcanons.  
> Enjoy.

Burning hot, sharp pain shot through her lower areas with every graze of leg against leg. Lungs hurt and spasmed with the excessive amount of oxygen she kept sucking in, panting, heaving, wheezing, crying.

Her head spun and disgust clung to her guts, but no matter how far she ran, she still felt too vulnerable, too close to danger.

 _How could that happen?_  
_**Why** would that happen?_

What had brought Snufkin's father to do such a thing to her? They looked so much alike, just like Moomin and Moominpappa. But opposite to him, Moominpappa would never dare to assault Snorkmaiden and deprive her of her innocence… _would he?_

An all-too-real vision of her adoptive father inflicting the same fate on an innocent Snorkmaiden flashed through her mind and made her gag, tiny feet losing their ground and sending her tumbling on the dusty soil.  
Another gag followed, and the only thing that pushed her back up and running was the adrenaline still rushing through her limbs.

 _Don't stop._  
_Don't turn back._  
_Just **run**._

Her airways felt so strained and dry that she felt on the verge of blacking out at any moment.  
Then, finally, the familiar bridge appeared in her blurry sight. She ran for it, crossing it with wobbly legs, only to fall down to her knees and on the ground once reaching the other side of the river.

She cried, tear-streaked cheeks in contact with rocky dirt as she wept, powerful sobs shaking her little, desecrated body as she cursed herself for falling to the obvious lie that stepping out of her home could be safe.  
The rustling sound of something moving behind her shot another bolt of adrenaline down her spine, and she darted her gaze behind her, attempting to spot the Joxter, who must have surely followed her.

But the Joxter was nowhere in sight.  
All she could see was Snufkin's empty tent on the other side of the river. Trees. Shrubs. Rocks and pebbles on the lushy green grass.

Everything looked just... normal.

She took a deep breath, only making herself cough and choke in return, and looking back at the tall, blue house before her she forced herself back up, tiny paw brushing through matted, sunny locks as she started onward once again.  
She couldn't run anymore, but her pace was still hasty, stumbling forward with every shot of nagging pain from all the activity.

It was then that she spotted Moominmamma in the garden, tending to her beloved roses.  
She stilled.

She couldn't let any of them know about this.

She was now filthy, tainted, rotten. A perfectly useless object, worthy only of being tossed away.  
How could anyone ever want to approach her with the stench now seeping from her skin, or the slick, aching mess between her legs?

She froze there, hoping for Moominmamma to turn around and not notice her, which she did. But the Toffle couldn't have faked that things were all good, not in that condition. She needed to wipe away all the evidence of that deed ever happening before anybody could notice. She reeked of filth and body fluids. She felt sick and disappointed of herself.

Nobody should have seen her in that state.

With that thought in mind, she shifted her path at the last moment, running around the veranda and darting past the Moominhouse's back entrance, up the stairs, through the washroom's door, and for the first time locking the door.

It was then that the long-yearned feeling of safety at last washed over her like a tidal wave. She ultimately fell to the ground and wept, throat sore and swollen from all the crying and gasping. So sore, in fact, that the feeble sounds coming out ragged and hoarse from her little mouth were the only thing she could produce before breaking down in hysterical tears, back leaning against the door.

The musky, bitter stench of that Joxter was still on her, still on her clothes, looming all around her as if he was still there. She needed to get rid of it as soon as possible.

It was with that thought that she crawled towards the bathtub and turned the porcelain knob of the hot faucet, still sobbing, still quivering in shock.  
She kicked off her shoes and untied the laces at the front of her shrug cardigan, then reached behind her pale blue dress to undo the four buttons keeping it together and finally discarded them all on the floor, shoving them away from her.  
Then it was the turn of her chemise, pulling the front laces with such strength that nails raked her little palms, and ruffled knee socks joined the heap as well.

And then came the turn of the only thing left on her… her bloomers. The once white underpants, supposed to conceal and keep her private parts from any contact with the outside, now stained with mushed grass green, dark dirt… and blood.

A painful sob left her mouth as she weakly loosened the ties and shrugged them down to her ankles, looking down at red-streaked, milky white fluid drops smudged in their crotch, and for a split second she could almost _feel_ the Joxter's presence behind her back.

With a gulp, her own, tiny paw moved down to her privates, touching them in concern and hissing at the burning tight sensation that one mere flick had caused.

Kicking her bloomers away, she climbed into scorching hot water, although nothing could hurt her as much as the knowledge that from that day on, she would have never been the same.

She might have spent an hour and even more in that tub.  
She washed her hair, her mouth, her privates, and scrubbed her skin red and raw, but that Joxter's smell never seemed to fade. It stayed there, no matter how painfully she rubbed the sponge on her skin, no matter how much soap she consumed.

By the time she was done, the once burning water turned icy cold, and splashing some on her face to conceal her tears she finally pulled the drain stopper, and climbed out.

 

* * *

 

The minute Moominmamma was done gardening, the sun had already begun setting by a long way, and when she finally stepped past the veranda's door, the bright orange sunset light shone through the entrance and into the living room.

The young Toffle sat at the round table at the center of the room, a light, pea green dress and a dark blue woven shawl on her shoulders, sunny locks still flattened with dampness.  
Her tiny feet dangled over her chair, taking silent sips of hot lemon water from the cup she was holding as she idly stared into the crackling fire in front of her.

                «Ah, Lucy,» Moominmamma twittered, treading past the doorway as she wiped her paws into her striped apron, then closed the door behind her, «I haven't seen you coming back. Did you have a good time with Mymble? How is she?»

Tongues of fire rustled and danced in the safety of the hearth, feeding on wood, paper… and fabric.  
It was almost hypnotizing, watching white slowly fade to black, being eaten by burning bites, and finally transform into ash, sucked into the vent.

Fire wiped every trace… but not the gut-wrenching feeling of that Joxter's looming presence still behind her.

«…Lucy?»

Her tiny paw tightened around the ceramic cup, but ultimately turned around to meet the Moomin's gaze.

                «…oh. Sorry, mamma, I— wasn't paying attention.»  
Her voice slightly hitched, and she cleared her throat, little paw going up to her mouth as she did so.

_Nobody should have known.  
                Nobody should have noticed._

She forced a smile, turning around to face her adoptive mother.

«Yes. Yes, she's good. We arranged some new floral decorations for her house and had some tea,» she recounted, paw tense around her cup as she took another sip, «And she told me to thank you very much for your preserves on her behalf. She loved the rose petal jam.»

«Oh, I'm glad to hear that!» Moominmamma's ears lightly tilted sideways as she smiled and clasped her paws together. Shuffling closer to the Toffle, she then wrapped her short arms around her thin, delicate figure in a grateful hug, «Thank you for your help, little one. You're such a precious little beast.»

An icy cold shiver shot down her spine, paralyzing the Toffle.

_"Little one".  
                "Precious little beast"._

Sparkling blue eyes stared into space as excruciating flashbacks shot through her brain.

 _His filthy stench._  
_His greedy stare._  
_His creeping fingers._

_The pain. The exposure. The vulnerability. The fear. The annihilation of her self._

She caught her breath, horrified eyes tearing up behind squeezed lids.

_Nobody should see._

She used to love Moominmamma's hugs. They were warm, protective, safe.  
But she wasn't holding her treasured Toffle, now.  
She was no longer precious, no longer worthy.

The mere contact with her velvety fur weirded her out, disgusted her. That Moomin was not holding a child anymore. She was holding a tainted, rotten waste.  
She wanted out of her arms. She wanted to cry her pain out and scream in terror. But all she could do was endure, silently. _Helplessly_.

_Nobody should hear._

The chime of pendulum clock's tune pulled her out of her tormented trance, and caught Moominmamma's attention enough for her throbbing pain to go unnoticed.

                «Oh dear, oh dear,» the Moomin mumbled, letting go of the Toffle as she headed to the clock to give it a charge, «I shall hurry up and prepare dinner. Moomintroll is still outside with the children, darling. You shall go and join them!»

The pendulum clock's shutter was closed, locked, and off Moominmamma went, trotting to her kitchen.

And just like it began, everything finished.  
Silence draped around the Toffle again, and she shivered, head pounding with the rush of blood in her ears as she shifted her gaze at the hearth once again.

The fire was dying, although still slowly consuming the blackened log on which the last piece of her burned bloomers still laid, black, scorched.  
But **intact**.

_"Delightful. You taste like the first fruits of a harvest. Sweet and succulent"._

_"An unfortunate fate, is it not…? Easily marred by the climate. Dried up by the sun, or… punctured by the rain"._

Her paw reached into the wood basket, her dissociated mind still hearing his breathy, penetrating voice as her mouth watered in disgust. She grabbed another log, eyes fixed on the burned square of black fabric undulating in the fire.

_"One day my son will decide to do the same to you"._

She gritted her teeth, and with a teary grimace she violently tossed the wood in the fire, the blast of oxygen reviving the flames and finally engulfing the last piece of that corrupted piece of clothing.

And then she fled, choking on aggressive sobs, tiny feet hurrying upstairs and into the corridor, around the corner, past her bedroom's door and finally behind a locked door.  
Alone.

Alone, but _safe_.

The bulky, green bunk bed welcomed her tiny body as she dove in the comfort of the sheets, defenselessly curling up underneath them, tears mixing with the dampness of her hair as she muffled her sobs on her soft and fragrant pillow.

She wanted to sleep.  
She only wanted to **forget**.

 _Nobody should have known._  
_Nobody should have heard._  
_Nobody should have seen._


	2. Quiet

Three, sudden knocks on the wooden door, and the Toffle was startled awake.  
Her cheeks were damp from crying and tossing in her sleep. Her breath was fast and labored, and she only then realized how drenched in cold sweat her forehead was.

She stood in silence, eyes fixed on the room's door, mouth half-opened but unable to let out any sound.

Three more knocks.

                «…Lucy? Are you there?»

_Moomintroll._

His voice somehow managed to snap her out of her daze and get her out of bed.  
The knob turned, but the lock didn't allow him in.

                «…eh? Why is the door locked? Lucy, are you okay?»  
He sounded alarmed, and a bit surprised. Nobody had ever locked a door before in the Moominhouse.

                «I– I'm fine, Moomintroll. I did it,» the Toffle finally responded after a deep breath, turning the key and slightly cracking the door open.  
Sky blue met darker blue, and Moomintroll's brow creased in the slightest hint of concern.

                «I felt a bit sleepy and dozed off for a while,» she explained, trying her hardest not to let her voice falter, «I must have turned the lock by mistake. I'm sorry.»

With these simple words, Moomintroll's concern seemed to vanish, and his ears twitched lightly in his usual, cheerful way, «Oh, no worries!» he chirped, «Mamma sent me to call you, she said dinner is ready!»

A pause, in which the Toffle's stomach shriveled and turned upside down at the mere thought of food. No, there was no way she could've eaten anything without getting sick, right now.

                «Thank you, Moomintroll,» she smiled, although she only wanted to slam that door and lock it again, «But I'm still feeling quite weary,» she continued.  
«I hope it's not a problem if I go back to sleep…»

                «Ah… uh–  no, no! Not at all!» The white Troll responded, waving his little paw in reassurance, «I can tell Mamma to save some for you, and you can come and eat later.»

                «Sounds very nice, that would be very kind of you.»

                «It's all good!» A satisfied smile followed from the chubby creature still outside of her room. Taking a step back from her door, he went on, «I will take care of that, you go and rest. Sweet dreams!»

A nod, and the door finally closed once more.

Her little paw reached for the lock, but hesitated.  
No, it would end up alarming them just like it did with Moomintroll. They would have asked. They would have _understood_.  
The mere thought made her shiver. With fists balled at her sides, she walked back to her bed, flipping her damp pillow to the other side, and then looking down at her clothes.

She felt repulsive. Clammy and filthy, as if that Joxter's traces were crawling back on her skin.  
She needed new clothes.

Reaching into the dresser, she picked and wore a fresh nightgown, and once making sure to leave the old clothes hanging far away from her bed she finally tucked herself back under her sheets, and closed her eyes.

And soon, she was asleep.

 

* * *

 

The next morning came just as smoothly as any other, cotton white clouds floating in the bright sky as the beaming sun shone on the Valley, greeting the inhabitants unhurriedly waking from their night slumber.  
One by one, all of Moominvalley's little creatures opened their eyes and stepped out of their cozy retreats, up and about to wash themselves, eat their breakfast, and do their chores.

It wasn't any different for Moominmamma, who just as usual, was the first one to wake up in her tall, blue house. Moominpappa was still asleep in the bed just next to hers, a book and his pipe on the nightstand to his side, for he loved to smoke before heading to bed.

Thin sunrays silently seeped through the window's shutters left ajar and tickled their snouts, and Moominmamma finally arose from her bed, put on her nightgown and hurried over to the window, mindfully pulling the curtains to keep them from bothering what was left of her husband's sleep. It wasn't time to wake up yet, and she knew he had been busy the previous night with another bout of inspiration, as he refused to leave his sky-blue room until he was done writing that one chapter – which typically meant he would most likely spend most part of the night in there.

But her consideration proved to be completely ineffective.

                «…mhn… Mamma?»

Her husband's voice called for her and her ears twitched, paw rested on the door's knob.

                «Good morning, dear. I'm sorry, I did not intend to wake you up,» she responded, turning around to face her sleepy husband looking up at her from under his sheets.

                «Uhn… no, not at all…» his eyes slowly drifted close again as he cleared his throat, «I just wanted to let you know that I'm heading back to my room,» he slurred, «I have a proper setup now, but I haven't finished writing last night, so…» A yawn interrupted him.

                «Oh, dear, you have stayed up all night again, haven't you?» Moominmamma sounded worried, «Did you have your dinner?»

A hum followed, «It was delicious, thank you Mamma…»

Judging by the sound of his voice slowly drifting off, Moominmamma figured her husband must have fallen back asleep, so she finally stepped out of their bedroom and up to his sky-blue room, where the tray with his fully consumed dinner was left on top of a pile of scribbled sheets. A heap of discarded and balled up paper all around her feet welcomed her entrance, but that was fine with her. As long as her husband didn't neglect his health.

What concerned her, however, greeted her as soon as she walked downstairs and into her kitchen: the little tray she prepared the previous night was still there, still untouched.  
Moomintroll's words echoed in her mind.

_“Lucy sounded very tired, Mamma. Can you save her part? She said she will come and eat later.”_

_She didn't come at all,_ she thought with a frown. _She must be starving._

Her eyes shifted from the plate of cold soup and two slices of stale bread to the cuckoo clock hanging from the wall: still too early for the children to be awake.  
The perfect time for her to prepare a hearty breakfast for her family.

Certainly, their household was quite unconventional.

Of all the guests buzzing in and out of the Moominhouse only one was her son, and yet each and every one of them mattered just as much as family.  
She loved to meet and welcome new people, listen to the stories of their adventures, provide them with their favourite meal, or chat about their most precious memories over a cup of tea.  
She couldn't help it: it was in her nature to be a nurturing mother, after all.

As a matter of fact, that morning wasn't any different for her.  
Hustling and bustling up and down her kitchen, she made sure to prepare a nutritious and tasty breakfast for each of them. Especially for her little Toffle.

After the young Ninny, she was another tried little creature in need of care and kindness.

Unlike other guests who passed by their household, Lucy was brought to them by the Police Inspector.  
The poor little creature had recently lost her previous caretaker, and the one whose care she was to be transferred under was nowhere to be found. No name. No identity. Only a piece of wet paper with an address reduced to smudged, indecipherable ink marks.

She needed nothing else than a roof above her head and a loving family to take care of her.  
That was precisely what she could find in their home, and without thinking twice Moominmamma happily took her under her own care as a foster daughter.  
It was obvious that she would treat her as if she were her own. Even _worrying_ for her.

Which she did, even as she passed by her door several minutes later, climbing up the stairs as she balanced a tray in her arms, a cup of hot, black coffee and a platter of freshly made blueberry pancakes for her husband.

By then, he was already in the sky-blue room, head low on his papers, scribbling more and more notes as he proceeded with his novel.

A second row of stairs, and she finally rapped her fingers on his door.

                «Hm,» he voiced from the other side.

At his acknowledging mumble she stepped in, and he readily – though clumsily – moved his papers aside for her to rest the tray on his table.

                «How is it coming along?» She asked, genuinely curious.

                «Ah, not good,» he gruffed, «Most of the ideas I produced last night would be solely useful to start a fire,» he added, gratefully accepting the plate of pancakes and cutting a piece out of these.

                «Now, Pappa, don't say that,» Moominmamma chided, resting the cup of coffee near his platter, «After a good breakfast and a good smoke I'm sure you will manage to gather enough inspiration to put order through them.»

                «Mh… you might be right,» he mumbled, then finally brought a bite of pancakes to his mouth.  
A delighted hum followed, and Moominpappa turned to his wife with a smile, «It's delicious, dear. Thank you.»

A gratified smile responded to his compliment, and after giving an encouraging squeeze to his shoulder she trotted towards the door.  
The clock read late morning. It was just a matter of minutes until the children would have woken up.

 

* * *

 

Fork in his left paw, Moominpappa's right paw had once more gotten hold of his fountain pen, mind focusing all over the scribbled, doodled and scratched papers all over his desk. Some pancake crumbles mixed with them as he brought another bite to his mouth, and with that, his breakfast was over.

Definitely a delicious meal, but it hadn't helped at all with his creative process.

Resting his pen down, he stood up. He walked towards the shelf by the fireplace and retrieved his pipe.  
He needed a smoke.

                «Busy as usual, I see.»

Moominpappa's ears twitched lightly at the low, well-known voice behind him, catching his attention for a moment. He took his tobacco pouch, then returned to his chair.

                «I don't recall opening that window,» he replied, sitting back at his desk to fill his pipe up, «When will you come in through the door like everyone else?»

                «When I will feel like it,» the other responded, climbing inside and on top of the older Moomin's desk, «Mind if I join you?»

                «Be my guest, dear Joxter,» Moominpappa countered, finally taking his pipe to his mouth as he leaned back to let his friend step down his desk, «Just like the old times.»


	3. Breakdown

Sky blue eyes opened drowsily, struggling to focus.  
The sun was high, and the light shining into the small room made sore orbs feel on fire. Her head pounded. Sweat, tears and drool were dampening her pillow again.  
Her breathing was labored, inhaling and exhaling in short, quick puffs.

Throughout the whole night she tossed and turned, plagued by something much worse than nightmares: **memories**.  
The sound of that voice, of these grunts and huffs. The sour smell of his breath and sweat, the feeling of his filth seeping into her skin. The taste of his spit, and the slimy, aggressive tongue against her gums. The perception of his paws roaming around her body, creeping on her unripe chest, groping her backside, slithering between her legs...

It felt like a nightmare.

And she _prayed_ for it to be a nightmare, but the hammering, stinging sensation between her legs stated otherwise. Her inner thighs still hurt for being spread apart for so long in such a harsh and unusual way. Her muscles and bones throbbed at the faintest motion. Everything ached.

All she could feel in that moment was exhaustion, and pain.  
She felt like she could never leave her bed, and in some way she wished not to.

But one thing she knew: she needed to take care of the nagging pressure building up in her abdomen. Sooner or later, she would've _had_ to relieve herself, and the urge had already made itself fairly obvious.

She sighed. There was no other choice.

Pushing herself up on weak arms, she sat on the edge of her bed for a few moments, attempting to focus her blurry vision. The chamber pot was just a few inches away from her right foot, and yet retrieving it and placing it in front of her felt like the heaviest of tasks.  
Then, she finally leaned to one of the bedposts for support, pulled her gown up, bloomers loose, and down she went.

 **Pain**.

 _Burning_ pain was the next thing she knew, and she instinctively jolted up with a yelp as she stilled, fingernails digging into the wooden post, legs shaking through the prickling sensation in her nethers.

 _Why… **why**._  
The pressure in her bladder induced her to crouch back down and release, and another rush of searing pain doubled her over, paws slamming on the floor to avoid losing her balance.  
She stilled again and gasped, whimpers coming out with each, labored breath.

It was then that she heard the lightest clattering outside of her door. Footsteps were going up the stairs, and she could recognize Moominmamma's brisk walk getting closer, and yet passing by and up another row.  
For a moment, she was almost hopeful to be walked in on in such a pathetic and humiliating position.

_Help… she needed **help**._

Release. Pain. Hold. Release.  
Such an easy and natural task once, now proved itself to be quite the torture.  
When she was done, she couldn't help but just sit there in defeat, bloomers down to her ankles, gasping for breath in an attempt to recover enough strength to stand back up.

Looking down, she could spot some brownish-red smudges on the inseam of her bloomers, and her tiny, trembling paw reached down to it, and touched.  
_Still damp._

She hiccuped, tears once again streaming down her tired eyes as she wept in misery.

She was no longer a child. She was no longer the Toffle they used to know.  
And now, she was bleeding. She was tainted, disgraced, and hurt.

It was all her fault… she had been so weak.  
She should've ran, should've left, should've _known_ he was dangerous.

 _Moominvalley was a safe haven for all._  
_Moominvalley was a land of peace._

Nothing but **lies**.

A slamming door startled her, and she looked up as the following series of fast, loud steps tapped on the floor above her head, indicating how the rest of the family had awoken.  
Instinctively she stood back up, bloomers back on, and looked down at the contents of her chamber pot before putting its porcelain lid back in place. White and reddish streaks floated about, and another hiccup choked her as she slumped on the edge of her mattress.

Nobody should've seen in what poor shape she shrunk into.  
A broken, useless waste.

Little My's shrill voice shouted something at Sniff, and judging by the hubbub going on outside her door, they were probably racing each other downstairs to breakfast.

_…right, breakfast._

At the mere thought, her stomach clenched, and her mouth watered in revulsion.  
Eating was the last thing she wanted to do in that moment.

Her headache had become unbearable, and her eyes felt like burning coal behind closed lids.  
Everything hurt.  
And what was worse, it all seemed to get even worse by the minute.

She had lost track of time since she sat back on her bed, and for who knows how long she merely sat there, motionless, looking like an old and forgotten porcelain doll, vitreous eyes staring into space, arms limp at her sides.

Then, three knocks on her door.  
No response, although she swiftly kicked her chamber pot back under the bed.

The knob turned, and Lucy's reddened eyes met Moominmamma's.

                «…..m-mamma…»

The older female stopped in her tracks for a moment, brow creasing at the sight of her defenseless, little Toffle in clear distress. And finally she hurried over, bending down to place her paws on either side of her precious little face now streaked with tears.

_Her skin was burning hot._

                «Oh, my little Lucy…» She breathed, and the young Toffle promptly leaned forward, wrapping her weak arms around her foster mother's plump frame. What came next was probably the most heart-wrenching series of desperate sobs, crying so hard her usually ringing voice turned into rasped screeching, occasionally interrupted by coughing, and wheezing, and sniffling.

Moominmamma knew better than interrupt her. Her Toffle must have woken up from a terrible dream, and unless she felt the need to speak about what was plaguing her, she saw no point in torturing her with questions that would only bring back unpleasant memories. Most importantly, she was running a terrible fever.

There was no doubt now as to why the poor little one didn't eat her dinner, the previous night: she was ill.  
Moominmamma's steady arms never left the little figure as she hiccuped and slurred incoherent words into her shoulder. She soothingly patted her back, whispering comforting words as she waited for her to calm down.

                «Mamma?»

Moomintroll's concerned voice momentarily caught his mother's attention as she turned to him, meeting the deep blue of her young son's eyes behind the door left ajar.

                «Mamma, is she okay…?»

Moominmamma's head turned back to Lucy, who didn't even seem to notice Moomintroll's presence.

                «She's going to be just fine in a minute,» she replied, soothingly shushing her little Toffle, «Don't worry Moomin, you can go back downstairs. Eat your breakfast, and…»

 ** _Breakfast._**  
With a painful lurch, the Toffle's stomach turned upside down, and she shoved Moominmamma aside just in time before its contents violently spilled all over the floor.

                «Goodness me!»  Moominmamma gasped, paw reaching out to the Toffle's shaking frame.  
A painful retch. A gagging noise, followed by sputtering. Then wheezing.

                «I—I will bring water!» Moomintroll stuttered, and with it he tottered away.

Another gag. Another painful heave, and more sour fluid streamed on the floor.  
Lightly cracking an eye open through the effort, the Toffle could recognize some bits of the pastries she had at Mymble's house the previous day, not too long before she crossed paths with—…

Her stomach lurched again.

                «Hush, hush… it's alright,» Moominmamma whispered, her paw now lovingly rubbing her child's back in soothing motions, «It's alright.»

One last bout of half-digested mush spewed out, followed by painful dry heaves that shook the Toffle's tiny body with distressed whimpers.

No. No, it was **not** alright.  
Nothing in all of that was fine.  
She was ruined, hurt, and now sick.

She hated this. She hated all these lies. She hated herself for believing that the outside world was safe.  
She should've known better, after that shipwreck…

She coughed.

                «There… all good.»

Her room's door opened fully now, letting in a very worried but cooperative Moomintroll holding a glass of water and a few rags for cleaning up.

                «Thank you, dear. Don't worry about this, I will take care of it myself. Go back with the others, everything will be okay,» Moominmamma reassured him, taking the glass from her son's paws.  
Albeit concerned, Moomintroll gave an acknowledging nod, then silently placed the rags near the bed and trotted out.

                «Here. Sip slowly,» Moominmamma instructed once left alone with her Toffle, «It's all good. Feeling better…?»

Lucy clung to the glass and unsteadily gulped its contents down, tears relentlessly streaming down her face.  
_“It's all good,”_ said Moominmamma, _“it's a curse,”_ said her mind.

 **_Nothing_ ** _was good._

                «I—I'm sorry…» she keened, at last, «I'm so sorry…»

Moominmamma shushed her, and lightly wiped her mouth with a corner of her apron.

                «Don't be. It's easy to sort out. You ought to rest, now…»

 _I'm sorry for being weak._  
_I'm sorry for being obscene._  
_I'm sorry for being tainted._

                «I'm… sorry…»

Gentle, understanding arms enveloped her again, huddling her in the safest of hugs, where she wept once more, bitter taste of bile still in her throat.

                «Hush, hush, my child…»

 _Not the child she thinks._  
_Not the child she used to cradle like that._  
_Not a child, anymore._

                «I—I'm not…»

                «Hm…?»

The Toffle's cries, by then, had gotten frantic.

                «I'm not…! L-look at me, Mamma… look at me!!»

_I'm no longer a child.  
I'm **stained**._

                «I _am_ looking at you,» Moominmamma held her feverish face with both paws.  
She waited until the little Toffle locked sky blue with deep brown, and waited even more in silence, breathing slowly along with her until she finally started to calm down.

                «You _are_ my child, Lucy,» she whispered at last, «No matter what, you are and will _always_ be my child.»

_No matter what, you are and will always be my child.  
**No matter what**._

_She could never imagine._

                «M-mamma…»

                «Yes. Yes, I'm here,» she reassured her, wiping her tears and brushing a paw on her sweaty brow.  
«Now, let's get you sorted. You're running a fever… you need to rest.»

The Toffle sniffled, but ultimately nodded.  
She felt exhausted.


	4. Isolation

The fountain pen scribbled more and more, ideas feverishly trickling out of its metallic tip, black on white.  
Moominpappa was once more bent down over his paper sheets, snout planted on the wooden table, completely absorbed by the perfect flow of thoughts rushing through his mind.

Then, a couple of resolute knocks on his wooden door caught his attention.

                «Come in.»

Pressing the tip of his pen slightly harder than usual, he put a full-stop to his last sentence and turned around, swivel chair creaking under his movement.

Now on cue, the door opened, letting in Moominmamma, followed by a very pale and weary little Toffle wrapped up in a dressing gown.

                «Sorry to disturb you, Pappa… but a little accident has occurred,» Moominmamma said, paws gently caressing the youngling's trembling shoulders.

The room smelled of sweet, freshly smoked pipe tobacco. Moominpappa's pipe was out but still firmly clamped between his teeth, an indication of how he must've been smoking just a while ago.

                «Accident?» the older Moomin questioned, taking his pipe from his mouth, «I heard quite the commotion downstairs, indeed. Is everything alright?»

                «Absolutely,» Moominmamma stated, «Our little Lucy just did not feel well.»

                «Oh, I see,» his pipe went back in his mouth and he stood up, walking closer to the pair, «Well, it can happen to anybody, can it not? It's certainly nothing to worry about,» He commented, reaching a paw out to stroke the Toffle's golden locks. She flinched lightly, but ultimately allowed his touch.

                «Definitely not. She only needs rest and some medicine,» Moominmamma agreed, «But I shall give a quick clean up to her room before taking her back to bed. Would you be so kind to keep an eye on her, dear?»

              «Most certainly, Mamma,» he declared, then placed a gentle paw behind the Toffle's back to ease her towards him. Tiny feet reluctantly approached the male, and with a nod the mother was soon off to her tasks, hurrying downstairs.

Silence followed.  
Moominpappa sure had his share of experience in helping those in need, but definitely not a sick child... that had always been Moominmamma's field of expertise.

                «You look very tired, my dear,» he commented, pointing at the empty armchair in the room, «It's probably for the best if you sit down.»

Lucy nodded.  
Her head was low, eyes glued to the floor. The smell in that room felt terribly overpowering, and all too similar to the one she just could not take off of her. She was still feeling fairly queasy, and for the first time Moominpappa's presence made her feel terribly uncomfortable.

He was that Joxter's friend. He _touched_ him, _talked_ to him. They grew up together, he said… there were so many awful things they could've done together, so many terrible things he could've been hiding behind his benevolent smile.

She shuffled to the armchair and slowly climbed on it, adjusting on the soft cushions with a sigh.

 _Warmth.  
_ Moominpappa must have used the chair not too long ago…

                «There we go,» commented the older Moomin, heading back to his own chair and sitting on it with a squeaking noise.

Lucy's brow knitted lightly.  
That one was a comfortable armchair, big enough for her to lie comfortably down, which she did.  
She nuzzled against the armrest, and yet sighed again in discomfort: that smell was getting harder and harder to stand.

Moominpappa's pipe never really bothered her before, but in that moment there was something different, something that resembled too much that Joxter's. She felt it ooze closer, seep through her hair, stick to her skin… her stomach clenched dangerously.  
She brought a paw to her nose.

                «Oh…» Moominpappa noticed her gesture and sprung back up, taking his pipe from his mouth, «Apologies, little Lucy,» he mumbled, reaching out to the window left ajar to open it fully, «It must be—»

                «No…»  
The weakest of croaks interrupted the older Moomin, who turned back to the sickly little Toffle with a questioning look.

                «Pappa, please…» She squeaked, gulping down the urge to heave, «Don't… don't open the window.»

 

* * *

 

Three days had passed, since then.  
Three days in which the Moomin household's lives went on just like any other day, except for Moominmamma's, whose daily chores were rearranged in order to take care of the sick Toffle confined in her room.

The medicines definitely helped some with the fever, but she seemed to be still unable to eat proper meals. She would refuse any sort of food. Her only source of nutrition came from tea, soup, or very thin porridge.  
Nevertheless, Moominmamma knew better than give up. She tried to keep a positive outlook, always offering new things that could spark her interest. Easy things to digest, but no less appealing to one's palate.

That day a glass of cranberry juice was added to her usual meal, and Moominmamma was proud to see how she managed to down a good half of it. When also the lemon tea and the blueberry porridge were consumed in most part, she placed the tray aside, proceeding with helping the little Toffle in combing her hair.

The children were playing outside.  
Laughter and cheerful yelling could be heard from the other side of the closed window, Little My's voice on top of the rest of them.

Lucy sighed.

                «It must feel very lonely in here,» Moominmamma mumbled, softly brushing the locks at the back of her head, «Moomintroll and the others cannot wait to play with you again. They have been asking about you a lot.»

                «Mh…»

                «You should try to eat a little more, dear,» The mother continued, now resting the hairbrush down and sectioning her hair, «The sooner you will recover your energy, the quicker you will be able to meet them again.»

The Toffle stirred. Outside was **dangerous**.

 _Too many risks._  
_Too many unsafe places._  
_Too many frightening people._

                «…Mamma?» she murmured, once the older female was done tying the big bow in her hair.

                «Yes, dear?»

                «…is it really safe for Snorkmaiden and Little My to stay outside?»

 _Is it really safe outside?_  
That was the exact same question she asked when she was invited to go out and play for the first time.

When she first arrived to the Moominhouse she was very skittish and wary of her surroundings.  
She was unable to trust anybody, preferring to read books or embroider rather than joining the children in their activities – although, Moominmamma had to admit, she was quite talented with needlework.

It could not be helped, after all. She barely survived a shipwreck at such a young age, losing what was left of her family, and her memories with them. It was understandable how terrifying life must have looked to her.

But this time… _this time her question was exceptionally specific_.

                «Why? Is there something dangerous outside?»

                «…many things,» responded the Toffle, «…ravines. Water. The Groke. Wild animals. Crooks…»

_…the Joxter._

Moominmamma quietly listened to her voice.  
That was true, there were many dangers out there… but Moominvalley was safe. All of its inhabitants were just like a big family, and each and all of them looked out for the other. There was nothing to worry about.

                «Those can be very dangerous things indeed, if faced on your own,» Moominmamma agreed, «but there is no need to worry about dangers, if you can rely on someone else's support.»  
The mother cupped her face, a sweet smile on her features, «They are not alone, are they? Moomin and Snufkin are with them.»

The Toffle lowered her head.  
Snufkin was with them.

_"One day, my son will decide to do the same."_

                «Or perhaps…» Moominmamma mused, «you would rather see them here? I'm sure they would love to keep you company.»  
If there was something she knew was how friendly interactions could do wonders for somebody feeling blue, even if for just a short while. 

A pause followed, in which Lucy looked out of the window.  
She loved her friends, and yes, she had to admit she missed playing with them, Snorkmaiden in particular.  
She might have been a bit unpredictable and vain at times, but she was a very sweet and caring friend. Very patient, too. And could weave the most beautiful decorations with flowers and grass, and…

 _“Such a little, delicate flower you look like.”  
_ _“Delicate ones like you shan't be left in the open for too long… rather, they shall be picked when still untainted.”_

Her body tensed, jaw clenching at the painful recollection.  
She lowered her head, and ultimately nodded.

                «…mh.»

                «That's wonderful,» Moominmamma chirped, clasping her paws together as she stood, «Shall we call them now? We could open the wi—»

                « _NO—!_ »

A tiny paw darted out and clutched Moominmamma's wrist mid-air before she could move. It squeezed hard in a painfully tight, tense grip, which loosened only upon meeting her mother's wide, startled eyes.

                «…Lucy!?»

                «…no, Mamma... please… don't open the window.»

Her paw let go of Moominmamma's, and the latter couldn't help but frown at the sudden outburst from her little Toffle. Her wrist _hurt_.  
What was that all about?

                «Lucy… is there… something wrong?»

The Toffle frowned, but shook her head, hair flicking as she did so.

                «…I'm sorry, Mamma.» she muttered.

A pause, in which Moominmamma's lips curved in a bittersweet smile, silently accepting her apology. It was clear as water, by then: something _was_ bothering her.  
Then, the Toffle announced, «I… I need the chamber pot.»

                «Sure thing,» responded the Moomin, «Shall I leave you some privacy?»

A thankful nod came from the youngling.

The mother gathered all of the partially emptied dishes from her meal onto her tray, then turned to the Toffle one last time before leaving the room, «Shall I let the children come upstairs when they come back?»

                «…hm. Thank you, Mamma.»

                «You're welcome, little one.»  
A reassuring smile followed, and the mother stepped back out in the hallway, closing the door behind her.

The slight discomfort in her wrist was still there, reminding her of the way the Toffle clutched it. Too fast, too strong for her condition. Her eyes were wide, her voice alarmed. She was _scared_.

Once she reached the living room, Moominpappa raised his eyes from his newspaper.

                «How is she?» He inquired.  
His eyes went to the tray in his wife's paws, «Oh… she didn't eat much.»

                «No, she didn't, but she's doing much better…» Moominmamma stated, voice trailing off as she rested the tray on the table. She looked at her husband.

                «Hm? Is something the matter, my dear?»

The mother sighed.

                «I fear there might be, Pappa,» she mumbled, a look of concern creasing her usually cheerful expression, «…Lucy is acting strange.»


	5. Awareness

Little feet dangled from the edge of the bed, blonde head hung low in silence.  
The door had long been closed since Moominmamma left the room, and there she was, a pathetic lump of pain and fear, struggling to accomplish even basic tasks.

After eating, relieving herself proved itself to be the roughest part, and dreadfully so. Adding insult to injury, not only the burning painful sensation had been growing rougher each time, but now her nethers had started to itch terribly. She would've wanted to scratch so hard to tear her own flesh apart.

It was a torture.

What was worse, there was no way she could have told anybody about this.  
It had to be some kind of shameful illness, something connected to what that Joxter had done to her.  
Something girls her age don't do.

 _“Respectful ladies should preserve their decency at all times,”_ once taught the Old Lady, and at that time she never realized how painfully hard those words would have weighed on her shoulders.  
A sob forced itself out of her throat, and with it her paws ran up to her flushed face, covering her sore eyes in a desperate attempt to keep from shedding more tears.

_She had no way out._

The Joxter was free to roam around, free to enter the Moominhouse. He was free to _hurt_ , if he wanted.

Was she the first…?  
Did Moominpappa know…?  
Did **Snufkin** know…?

Moominvalley used to feel safe to her. The Moominhouse used to feel safe, and yet, now she was confined in her own room, with no sense of safety from either of these four walls enclosing her.  
The mere sunlight passing through the window's glass felt threatening to her, and yet her room was the only place, after the bathtub, where she could've lived undisturbed with the weight of her misery.

She sniffled, and negligently rubbed her sleeve under her nose.

 

* * *

 

                «…strange?»

The pause that followed Moominpappa's frown was enough for him to fold his newspaper and set it aside, looking up at his wife's creased features. She looked worried, and Moominmamma was never one to worry too much. In fact, she hardly did.

Just to think of all the times the children had gotten themselves into very dangerous situations like flying on mysterious magic clouds, getting stuck to kites, or ending up trapped inside giant soap bubbles, and still she barely batted an eye. But this time, she looked serious, way too serious.

She sighed.

                «You see, dear,» she sat at the table, lightly scooting the tray towards its center in order to rest her arms on it, «She's not running a fever any longer, but she still turns down food. She's quiet, I can barely recognize her anymore.»

                «Do you think her illness might have worsened? Shall we send for the Valley's doctor?»

                «No, Pappa, she isn't ill anymore,» Moominmamma countered, «but I have a feeling this might not even associate with it.»

Moominpappa's paw nervously shifted on the table's surface, reaching to grab his pipe, «Why is that? Has she told you something unusual?»

                «Quite,» was the mother's response.  
«She has been asking oddly specific questions, and has become very vigilant of her surroundings,» she explained, «it almost seems like she's feeling unsafe.»

                «But, Mamma,» the other Moomin retorted, now reaching for the box of matches at the center of the table, «don't you think it could be normal for her to feel this way after all she went through before arriving here? She's just a child…»

                «Yes, but she was doing much better, Pappa. It has been months since she last acted like this, and this time seems to be even worse.»

Moominpappa hummed, then lit his pipe, «Perhaps something or somebody has reminded her of the accident? Have you noticed when she began acting like this again?»

A pause, in which Moominmamma's gaze shifted away in thought.

                «Hmm… when her fever has lessened, perhaps? But until then, nobody but you and me were allowed in her room. Did you say anything that could have upset her, Pappa?»

                «Absolutely not, did you?»

                «No…»

The sound of laughter caught the couple's attention, interrupting their discussion, and soon enough the veranda's door opened and let Moomintroll and his playmates back inside.

                «Pappa! Can we borrow your carpenter tools and some of your wood?» Moomintroll chirped, trotting towards his father. Behind him stood Sniff, a fairly excited expression on his pointy muzzle.

                «Of course you can, as long as you will pay attention. What do you need it for?»

                «We have found the perfect spot for our personal secret shelter, and we want to make our own furniture for it!» honked Little My in a singsong voice, only to be shushed by Sniff.

                « _Ahh, Little My!_ »

                «It was supposed to be a _secret_ , Little My!» whined Sniff, crossing his arms.

                «Now, now, children,» Moominmamma intervened with a smile, «Don't worry, it's still a secret, is it not? We have no way of knowing where your marvelous secret spot is, nor we will ask. There's no need to fight!»

                « _Yes but she still ought to keep her mouth shut!_ »

Little My stuck her tongue out in response.

                «Ah, Moominmamma,» Snorkmaiden cut in, «do you perhaps have some old curtains we can take, too? And a pretty flower vase? »

                «Oh, dear,» Moominmamma piped, mood uplifted by all the excitement surrounding her, «You sure are eager to build your own cozy retreat! I shall hurry up and find those curtains, then!»

                «Thanks, Moominmamma!»

                «You know where the tools are, Moomintroll,» mumbled Moominpappa, taking a couple of puffs from his pipe before unfolding his newspaper once more, «mind you, I left the saw and the axe near the wood stack. I haven't put them back yet.»

                «Thank you, Pappa! Let's go, Sniff!»

                «Ah, Moomintroll, before you go,» Moominmamma called.

                «Yes, Mamma?»

                «I was wondering if you perhaps wanted to tell Lucy about your exciting discovery,» she smiled, «She isn't ill anymore, so you will not risk catching anything if you pay her a short visit.»

                «She has recovered?» Snorkmaiden twittered in glee, clapping her paws.

                «She has, but she is still weak, therefore no rough games yet,» Moominmamma declared.

                «It's still great!!» The children cheered, «We shall bring some gifts!» suggested Snorkmaiden.  
«Seashells!» added Sniff, «Flowers!» echoed Little My.

                «Let's go get Snufkin!» suggested Moomin, «he can play his mouth organ, and we could all sing together!»

A round of cheerful agreements followed, and one by one the children darted out of the door, temporarily forgetting about their original plan. Last one in line was Sniff, who clumsily scampered out and closed the door behind him, shouting a _"wait for me!"_ as he ran after his playmates.

A short moment of silence passed, in which the two parents looked at the door, then at each other.  
                «Well, Mamma,» said the male, licking a finger before turning his newspaper's page, «I suppose this calls for coffee.»

                «Absolutely, Pappa,» she agreed.  
She waddled to her kitchen, then lit up the stove and put on the kettle. Soon enough the children would have been back and ready for a snack. And who knows, maybe it would've also helped get her little Toffle's own appetite back.

Which reminded her, she needed to inform the little one.

Quick steps accompanied Moominmamma as she climbed the stairs and neared her child's room, lightly knocking on her door.

                «Lucy?»

A quiet hum came in response, and she twisted the handle, peeking in.  
The young Toffle was lying on top of her bedsheets. She was holding her little rag doll in her paws, idly smoothing her floral clothing and picking little pills out of her woolen white hair.

It was a very special doll, that one.  
She made it herself out of scraps from Moominmamma's latest needlework, and she loved that fabric's floral designs so much she had sewn every smallest piece left into that little dress. There was definitely still room for improvement, and yet Moominmamma thought it was an impressive work for a beginner.

                «Lucy, dear,» Moominmamma called again, stepping inside and closing the door behind her, «the children were delighted to hear you're doing better. They are coming to see you soon. Wouldn't you like to change into something else?»

The Toffle looked up at her adoptive mother, and simply nodded.  
She sat up on the edge of her bed, and in the pause that followed Moominmamma could not help but notice how odd her lack of reaction was. She had grown to smile and skip about in glee every time she could go out with her friends, and suddenly, not only she refused to go out, but barely spoke.  
When she finally stood up, Moominmamma reached into her dresser, waiting for the Toffle to approach her.

                «I washed your blue dress, would you like to wear that?» she offered, to which the youngling responded with a firm shake of her head.

                «I see… perhaps this one?»

A handful of minutes passed just like that, with Moominmamma pointing at clothes and her Toffle shaking her head at each and every one of them.  
At last, the child finally settled for a dark blue dress with frilled sleeves.

                «I have put the kettle on the stove, I'm sure the children would love some coffee for when they come back,» Moominmamma commented as she closed the dresser, «Perhaps coffee might be too strong for you... would you like some tea? I can bring it here, so you can all sit at the table and drink together.»

                «…thanks, Mamma,» was the Toffle's response, and with it the mother's smile grew wider.

                «You're welcome, dear. Now, hurry up and change your clothes. They will be here any minute now.»

A nod followed, and with it the mother scurried back downstairs.

She wasn't lying when she said they would be back soon. The Toffle didn't even have time to look at herself in the mirror.  
Shrill voices neared quickly from outside of her window, calling each other's name in-between general laughter.

With a shiver running down her spine, she undid the two buttons behind her neck and shrugged her nightgown off.  
It didn't take long for her to change her clothes, and once she sat back on her bed, two knocks and some muffled, excited giggles came from her door.

                «Lucy? It's us!»

At last, the hint of a smile curved the Toffle's mouth upwards. It was Snorkmaiden's voice.

                «Ah… come in!»

Without further delay, the group poured into her room with loud, cheerful greetings, and soon enough two plump arms were wrapped around her tiny figure. Snorkmaiden's elated giggle filled her with joy, and the Toffle returned her hug, her smile finally growing into a full-blown one.  
The mattress sank ever so slightly at her side, and by the way her dress was being tugged at she could tell Little My had climbed on it.

                «It's great to see you again, Lucy!» chirped Snorkmaiden, holding her friend's hands.  
Lucy giggled in return, «You've turned pink!» she commented, to which Snorkmaiden responded with another hug, «I know! Oh, I'm so happy!»

                «We all are!» Moomintroll agreed, directly followed by Sniff, «We brought you gifts!»

By then, the group had gotten so vocal and close to the little Toffle that she hadn't noticed the last guest walking past the door, closing it behind him.

                «Hello,» he voiced.

                « _Snufkin!_ »


	6. Gifts

At Moomintroll's elated chirrup, the group's attention shifted to the newcomer, gleefully greeting him as he neared the bunk bed, boots tapping closer with each step.  
The atmosphere in the room was happy, carefree. And yet, adrenaline shot painfully along the Toffle's spine, carving its way down to the bottom of her back, smile dropping once she made eye contact with him.

He appeared tranquil, hands at his sides. Brown, round eyes greeted the group with the kindest of looks, stopping before the young Toffle with a buoyant smile, lightly tilting his head sideways.

                «Hi, Lou,» he spoke.

His face was smooth, clean. He lacked whiskers. His voice was silvery, instead of deep and rough. Under his hat, reddish brown locks replaced charcoal.  
He was so different, and yet horribly similar to that Joxter.

                «…hello,» responded the Toffle, and with it, Snufkin inched closer, paw reaching out to her.

Her whole body tensed, desperately attempting to keep down the instinct to flinch as he patted her head, ruffling her golden hair. It wasn't any different than what he used to do before his father assaulted her. It was an endearing way he adopted as a greeting, just like the way he and Moomintroll hugged or communicated through coded whistles. Just like the way he called her 'Lou'. It was supposed to be a completely innocent action, and still, now it felt dreadfully dangerous.

                «Moomintroll said you have been feeling a bit under the weather, recently,» he stated, earning a quiet nod from the little Toffle. Withdrawing his paw, he tucked them both in his pockets, «Well, it's good to see you are doing better. Moominmamma's care truly does wonders, does it not?»

                «Absolutely!» Moomintroll piped in, «Just like that Spring when you came back weak and feverish, remember?»

                «I sure do,» Snufkin nodded, «Alas, an unfortunate return to Moominvalley, but a very exciting one nonetheless,» he observed, walking towards the room's window to sit on the ledge.

                «You looked like hell,» commented Little My, crawling towards the foot of the bed and leaning over the footboard, «like a pale, wonky scarecrow tormented one time too many by angry birds.»

                «It can happen to anybody to fall ill every so often,» He retorted.

                «Ah, not me,» she countered, «I'm too small for any germ to come and bother me.»

Lucy's gaze shifted to the windowsill, observing the chill Snufkin now taking his pipe out of his pocket, giving it a quick wipe with his sleeve before putting it in his mouth.  
«Hup, pff,» was his response to Little My's statement.

The group went on with their chitchat, and while Lucy's paw was still held by Snorkmaiden's, she couldn't feel anything but numbness. Her heart's pace was speeding, her head was starting to feel fuzzy as if a bubble had enveloped her, and all the chirping voices soon turned into faint, distant echoes around it.

She snapped out of her reverie only when Sniff called her name and enthusiastically placed the big bundle he was holding on her knees.

                «Here!» He piped, working to untie the thin rope holding it close. His little tongue went between his teeth in somewhat of a visual representation of how absorbed he was by the task.

                «Sniff, you're useless. Get out of the way, I'll open it,» Little My snapped, hopping closer to the bundle, only to be stopped by Sniff's paw, «I got this, Little My!»

                «….what—what is this?» Lucy mumbled, looking around to find pleased, eager faces all around her.

                «I just told you,» Sniff complained, «it's our get-well gifts!»

                « _…eh?_ »

The bundle was soon untied, and once pulling it open the group's gifts were finally displayed.

                «Aren't these gorgeous?» Snorkmaiden squealed, grabbing the most beautiful shells from the bunch of gifts and handing them to the Toffle, «Look how big they are! They're the purest, pearly white, but if you turn them around and move them in the light like this, see? They change color! Just like me!»

Lucy gratefully took the seashells in her own paws, repeating the movement as instructed and smiling lightly at the comparison.

                «…it's true,» she agreed, «There's gold, like your anklet. And green, and pink...»  
She brought the seashell to her chest, then looked up at her friend, «They are gorgeous, indeed… I love them!»

Snorkmaiden's arms wrapped around her tiny figure once more, to which the Toffle responded with the most thankful of hugs.

                «And what's even better,» added the Snorkmaiden, «there are so many on the seashore! We have to go collect more together, and then decorate them!»

Lucy nodded, and with it she held the seashells one more time, then set them aside to take Little My's gift from her tiny paws.

                «Do you like it?» was her question, and Lucy did not know what to answer.  
A heavy, round thing was laid in her cupped paws. It was smooth, like a flattened sphere, and was coated in nervous and uneven strokes of red, purple, and green paint.

                «A… rock?» She asked, cracking a slightly confused smile.

                «Not just ‘a rock’,» Little My almost sounded offended by the lack of a response, «it's a _painted_ rock, precisely the smoothest and heaviest rock you can ever find in all Moominvalley. Plus,» she added, «Not only it's a pretty decoration, but it can also be the perfect weapon, if you know how to use it. Have you ever used a slingshot? Can you imagine what you could do if you used this?»

                «Alright, Little My, that's enough, my turn!»

                « _I'm not done yet!!_ »

Moomintroll ignored the young little Mymble's complaints, impatiently waddling over the young Toffle and picking up his own little gift from the bundle.

                «Mamma taught me how to make these,» he explained, holding the little leaf boat as he handed it to Lucy, «I'm still not that great at them, but this one isn't too bad, I think. It floats, I tried it personally!»

The little Toffle accepted the delicate gift, eyeing it as she turned it around in her paws. It was fully made out of leaves, a tiny twig skewering another dry, round leaf as a sail.

It reminded her of when she saw Snufkin build his own little boat, although that one was made out of bark. She could remember her fascination with the way he handled his knife, completely absorbed by his crafting as he carved and shaped little bits here and there until he was satisfied.  
It definitely wasn't as elaborate as Moomintroll's gift, but it accomplished its function and floated away with the river's current.

                «I would like you to keep it, so that when you're strong enough to come and play with us, we can float it together on the river!»

For a moment, the Toffle paused, biting her lower lip as another shiver ran down her spine, paws tingling again. Her heart sped up again, and she had to take a couple of breaths and gulp before forcing out a smile.

                «Yes,» she responded, trying to push back the slightest hint of hesitation trying to creep out.

No, she did not want to go out.  
She did not want to see that river again… it was too dangerous, too close to that terrible memory.

Pain settled at the pit of her stomach, and trying to ignore it she placed the boat aside, now ready to pick up the last gift from the bundle.  
An old and rather worn little plush dog sat there, stains at the bottom of its paws. One of its black button eyes had loosened, and now dangled on the side of its muzzle.

                «Isn't he adorable?» Sniff's voice muttered, as he shuffled closer, «His name is Cedric, and he's the most loyal little dog ever. One day, I thought I lost him forever, and instead I found him in the rain, waiting for me.»

                «You gave it away, Sniff,»

                «It was _your_ fault, Moomintroll!» Sniff retorted, then cleared his throat, «Anyway. His eyes were gorgeous blue topazes, and right here,» he pointed at a small indent in the collar, «here there was a moonstone, a real moonstone! He's a brave dog, you know? He's gone through many adventures and yet came back to me… he is very precious!»

Lucy took another breath, then looked up at Sniff.

                «But… if it's so precious, why are you giving it to me?»

                «Well… he's a very good dog and keeps me a lot of company when I'm sad, scared, or if I have tummy aches,» he explained, «he's not a forever gift, though. He's more of a friend of a friend helping a friend in need, perhaps. I've heard you've had a lot of tummy aches, recently. He will help you with them, because he's magical like that.»

The Toffle looked down at the plush dog, a warm, fuzzy feeling rising in her chest at Sniff's extremely selfless action. He was never one to give up his things without receiving something in return, and the mere thought of him giving her something so precious made her squeeze the little plush in the strongest, most grateful hug.

                «…Cedric,» she mumbled, trying to memorize the little dog's name, «I will take good care of him, Sniff… thank you.»

A slight blush crept upon the Sniff's muzzle, along with a silly, embarrassed chuckle soon called out by Little My, causing them both to sink into another squabble.

                «I guess it's my turn now, is it not?» Snufkin called from the windowsill. He straightened up, then walked to the bunk bed, sitting beside the little Toffle.  
A very stiff breath escaped her lips as the whiff of his scent reached her nostrils. It was earthy, musky. A mix of wilderness, his own odor, and tobacco.  
_Her stomach clenched._

He took off his hat, and the next thing she knew was the smallest trail of fresh flowers, and faint pressure above her head. She turned around in confusion, seeing him put his hat back on, and then turn to her in order to admire the flower crown on her head.

                «Goodness!» Snorkmaiden clasped her paws, eyes shimmering in delight at the wonderfully intricate crown, with whites, and blues, and pinks, «Snufkin, it's gorgeous!»

                «And quite easy, too, if you weave it inside out,» he added.

                «Oh! So _that's_ the trick,» Snorkmaiden commented, then turned to the Toffle and readjusted the crown's position, «Well, it does look beautiful, and it suits our Lucy very well, does it not? _Delicate, springtime colors!_ »

By then, the Toffle's ears were filled with the loud rushing of blood as her heart raced and pounded.  
All she could hear was the sound of the Joxter's husky, gruff voice. Her insides twisted. He wasn't there, and yet she could clearly hear his huffs, his moans, the sound and feeling of his skin slapping against hers.

                _Such a little, delicate flower you look like…_  
                                _Why, little flower. Are you afraid of me?_  
                _He will want to take your innocence, and savour your sweet taste of springtime…_  
                                _Delicate flowers like you shan't be left in the open for too long…  
_                 _An unfortunate fate… easily marred by the climate, dried up by the sun, or punctured by the rain…_

She could smell the nauseating stench of his filthy hair and skin. _Or was it Snufkin's…?_

                «—trip? You haven't told us about that, yet!»

The Toffle blinked her eyes, confused about the lack of a first part to Moomintroll's sentence… she dissociated. She didn't pay much attention to it, however.  
Her main focus was now on the painful chills shooting up and down her spine as her heart pounded, paws completely numb. She felt lightheaded, on the verge of fainting, and yet nobody seemed to notice, focusing instead on Snufkin's tale.

                «Oh, it was one exciting journey indeed,» Snufkin responded, now standing up and shuffling towards the table to have a seat at the chair, «Breathtaking sights and marvelous weather,» he added, reaching into his pocket to take out a box of matches. He lit his pipe, took a few puffs, then went on, «and one of the most enjoyable festivals I have ever attended.»

                «A festival?» asked Moomintroll, «Was there music?» added Snorkmaiden, «Were there rare, or precious objects?» adjoined Sniff, «And food?» concluded Little My.

                «There sure were all of these things, and even more,» He stated, «The music was lively, and people danced like mad until their feet hurt. Not too far from the dancefloor they set up a fair, in which all kinds of unique and valuable things were displayed and traded. And the food was absolutely delicious. I myself have drank and eaten so much I could barely stand up.»

                «Was it far from Moominvalley? What kind of festival was it?»

                «It was North of the Lonely Mountains. There is a small village full of warm and hospitable creatures, able to grow the best fruit I have ever eaten in my life,» Said Snufkin, «By my hat, it was a Spring Harvest festival, indeed!»

A chuckle went past his lips and he puffed some more smoke, «They offered the most fragrant fruits of their first harvest. Sweet, juicy and delicious… just how I like them.»

_You taste like the first fruits of a harvest…_

_"Sweet, juicy and delicious… just how I like them."_

_Sweet and succulent. A pity that my son is not going to taste you unspoiled…  
                                One day, my son will decide to do the same to you…_

The Toffle's breath caught up in her throat. The reek of Snufkin's tobacco had now filled the room, and that dreadful memory felt close, too close. The warm feeling of the Joxter's foul breath made its way back on her face, and with a choked sound she released her breath, sweaty and shaking paws running up to her chest as she found she was struggling to breathe.

A pathetic whine followed, which finally caught the attention of the group.

                «…Lucy?»

Wheezes and choked sobs were all she could get out of her, paws shaking uncontrollably.  
Snorkmaiden was the first one to run to her friend's side.

                «Lucy!? Lucy, what's wrong!?»

She grabbed her by the shoulders in an attempt to steady her swaying figure, albeit to no avail. Her wheezing had turned into frantic gasping, and there Sniff went, calling for Moominmamma's name at the top of his lungs as he rushed out of the room, directly followed by Moomintroll and Little My.

                «Dear me, is it my pipe?»

Snufkin's tone shifted to a concerned one. Without waiting for an answer, he took the pipe out of his mouth and smothered it with his thumb, then darted to the window in order to open it and let in some fresh air.

The Toffle's anguished, terrified scream followed, little paws balling into tight fists as she curled painfully onto herself.

The Joxter's ravenous eyes were all she could see, lewd noises all she could hear. The sights, smells and sounds of that experience came all back to her like a punch in the face, memories overwhelmingly clear. The Joxter's paws were all over her, under her clothes, inside of her...

Another atrocious scream came, although soon muffled by Moominmamma's loving arms now wrapped around her in the safest of hugs.

                «Shhh, I'm here, child…» She hummed, cuddling the little one's shuddering figure in an attempt to calm her down, «I'm here… I'm here.»


	7. Panic

A handful of minutes had passed since Moominmamma hurried over, and still the situation remained unchanged. 

For a while, Moomintroll and his friends stood in silence, watching with a slightly awkward sense of guilt, albeit without fully understanding the reason. They waited, simply observing the loving mother as she held and comforted the frantic little Toffle in her arms.  
Snufkin, however, deemed more appropriate to leave them some space, and soon enough the group decided to follow him downstairs. 

Only Snorkmaiden preferred to stay.   
Sitting by her side, she rubbed the Toffle's back in comforting motions, careful not to get in the way of Moominmamma's hold. 

Sharp, fast gasps forced their way out of her as she moaned in-between panicked hiccups, shoulders shuddering so hard even Moominmamma found it hard to hold still. Tears and mucus soaked her soft fur, and still she combed her chubby fingers through the little one's golden, sweaty locks in an attempt to soothe her. 

She glanced over to Snorkmaiden every so often to check on her, too.   
Judging by the look on her snout, those cries must have been dreadfully heartbreaking for such an empathetic one as her. She could read second hand sorrow all over each crease of her brow. 

«Don't you worry, dear,» she spoke at last, placing a paw over Snorkmaiden's, «I will stay with her. You can go downstairs with the others and have some tea, if you like.» 

Snorkmaiden shook her head, «I want to stay, Mamma. I want to help.»  

Lucy coughed harshly. 

«Oh dear, hush, hush…» 

The Toffle's hold tightened around her mother's frame, and Moominmamma readjusted her position, allowing her to rest more comfortably against her chest as she patted her back. 

«Snorkmaiden, dear, will you be so kind to bring some water?» She murmured, lightly cradling her child, «And some candy, perhaps?» 

«Absolutely,» was the Snorkmaiden's response, and with it she bustled out of the door. 

More raspy coughing followed, to which Moominmamma responded each time with soft pats and strokes to her back. The poor little one has been crying her own throat raw, and now she could barely breathe without gagging. 

She reached into her apron's pocket. 

«Now, now, let's calm down…» she hummed, handkerchief wiping at the little one's eyes and cheeks, «I'll be here, alright? I won't leave you.»   
Another tight hug came in response, and Moominmamma gently rocked her in her arms, undulating back and forth as she crooned, «It's okay, dear… it's okay.» 

More whimpering, more crying. More sniffling, followed by more rough, wet coughing and gagging. When the cough subsided, a string of drool connected the little Toffle to her foster mother's chest.   
The handkerchief promptly wiped her mouth and cheeks once more, and back Snorkmaiden came, a big glass of water in one paw, a handful of hard candies in the other. 

«Thank you so much, dearest,» Moominmamma voiced, gratefully accepting the glass and offering it to the Toffle.   
The little one's paws were shaking too much for a proper grip, calling for Moominmamma's help to put it to her lips and allow her to take a few sips. Once she was done, the handkerchief wiped her lips again. 

«There… all good,» Moominmamma hummed, then offered her a candy.  

The Toffle opened her mouth, then sighed at the sweet honey soothing her taste buds. With eyes closed, she savored the candy, gradually replacing the sour, obstinate taste of smoke and filth lingering in her mouth.   
Then, Snorkmaiden closed the window at last, and as Moominmamma's arms were wrapped back around her thin frame, her cries and whimpers slowly subsided. The sweet, fresh scent and warm, soft feeling of her mother's embrace lulled her into a sense of safety, and finally her breathing went back to a normal rhythm.   
In, and out… in… and out. 

At last, Moominmamma's soft voice broke the silence. 

«Yes, just like that… are you feeling better now?» 

A nod. 

«Would you like some more water?» 

Another nod.   
The half-full glass of water was offered once more, which she took gratefully and gulped down on her own. 

«There you go…» Moominmamma crooned, then took the empty glass and placed it back on the table, «Would you like me to call the children back?» 

She shook her head. 

«Would you like to rest?» 

One more nod. 

«Very well.»   
Moominmamma pressed a sweet kiss at the top of the little one's blonde head and finally stood up, allowing the her to get comfortable on her bed.  

«You must feel very tired,» she commented, helping her under the bed sheets and tucking her in. Sniff's little dog plush was handed to her, «I'm sure you will feel much better after a nap.» 

The Toffle nodded with a sniffle, and Moominmamma's handkerchief was promptly brought to her nose. She blew hard a couple of times, then finally turned to her side and curled up under the blankets. Cedric lay tight in her arms. 

Moominmamma smiled. Turning around, she gathered all that was left on the table, «Let's leave now, Snorkmaiden. We shall let her rest,» she stated. 

The pair was soon out in the corridor, and with one last look at her friend, Snorkmaiden closed the door and trotted after Moominmamma. Worry was written all over her features as she wordlessly climbed down the stairs, brooding. It was very much unlike her, who usually trotted around in a brisk, lively walk.   
Only upon walking into the kitchen, Moominmamma spoke up. 

«It will be okay, dear. There's no need to worry.» 

A pause followed, in which the Snorkmaiden merely nodded at the mother's statement. 

«I— I've never seen her like that.» 

Moominmamma rested the empty glass into the washbasin, then let out a sigh, «She had been through a rough few days. She needs time to recover.» 

«But she looked so distressed, Mamma,» the youngster pointed out, «She was just fine when we first walked in. We may have said something that bothered her.» 

A sheepish smile crossed the mother's lips, paw reaching out to the youngster's shoulder with a gentle squeeze, «Well… you may, or may have not. That, we cannot know. Either way, you did not mean it, did you?» 

«Of course not!» 

«Then I see no reason why to fuss, dear,» Moominmamma stated, paw on Snorkmaiden's back as she encouraged her forward, «All we can do now is wait and let her rest.» 

Snorkmaiden's only response was a silent nod.   
It was true, there wasn't much that could have been done in that moment… they could only wait.   
And yet she worried, apprehension tugging painfully at her heart at the recollection of each shattering cry that forced itself out of her friend's chest. 

She had seen her cry a few times already, but never like that.   
In fact, Lucy was quite the crybaby. She used to cry for several reasons, might it be out of joy or sorrow. She cried in pain, defeat and even anger. 

But Snorkmaiden also saw her cry out of fear, and couldn't help but recall the day the poor Toffle fell off the bridge and into the river. It was Snufkin who fished her out, and once recovering from the shock – and the big lungful of water resulting from it – she spent quite some time crying it all out. And she had every right to, considering what terrible shipwreck almost took her life.  

This time, however, nothing happened. Everything was just fine, and then she suddenly burst in tears.   
_Why?_  

«Ah! Now that I think about it,» mumbled the mother as she clasped her paws together, «Have you been able to tell her about your wonderful discovery?» 

Snorkmaiden made a quizzical noise. Discovery?   
Oh, their secret shelter.    
_She almost forgot about it._  

«Ah, no…» she breathed.   
«No, we couldn’t. Snufkin was sharing one of his adventures with us when she started crying. We didn't have the time to even mention it.» 

«Well then! It’s a great chance to tidy it up and make it nice and clean for when you can show her personally, don’t you think?» piped Moominmamma, «I believe you asked for curtains and a pretty flower vase. Come, we shall go and see if we can find something appropriate together.»

 

* * *

 

The old leather boot kicked a small rock out of the way, sending it rolling and tumbling among other pebbles, clattering against each other as they budged and shifted.   
Paws were tucked in moss green pockets, in which a few copper coins and a button clinked against the metallic part of the harmonica right next to them with each step. 

Albeit lit off, the pipe’s stem was firmly clamped between Snufkin’s teeth as he strolled back to his tent. Moomintroll and the others had gone back to their original plan to build furniture for their newly discovered retreat, and while they insisted for him to team up with them, he rather retired for the evening. He was in the mood to spend some time on his own. 

The bottom part of the sun was almost down to the line of the horizon, moon already showing up on the other side of the sky now tinted with light pinks and purples. A feeble southeast wind caressed the blades of grass around him in a delicate song of swishing and rustling as it traveled northwest. 

Snufkin stopped in his tracks, eyelids falling shut as he lingered in the sweet sounds, mind already set to work on the next part to add to his newest tune. Sounds of silence and light crinkling and whizzing and buzzing, with some quiet notes in minor added here and there for the smallest hint of solitude. 

There was another sound, however, that bothered his creative process and echoed insistently at the back of his head. The sound of pain, a distress he hadn’t witnessed for long time since he walked in Moominvalley. 

Those cries were shrill, frantic, sopping wet with adrenaline.   
And not the kind of adrenaline rush one gets while venturing for dangerous things. It was  _fear_. 

Lucy was a frail little one. She was curious, and yet extremely insecure. Fear was something she experienced often when tagging along with their games or adventures, and yet it was a completely different kind of fear than what she gave out while trailing clumsily after them in the woods or recounting what little she could remember about her accident. 

This was too deep, too genuine.  _Too fresh._  

He saw it as soon as he stepped into the room. It was written in purple under her eyes, like a dark shadow creeping on her, growing bigger and bigger with every step he walked closer to her.   
He felt her flinch when he touched her head, and saw the blue sea of her eyes – such a delightful sea, in other circumstances – grow murky and restless behind the vehemence of a storm. 

It was odd, too odd for someone recovering from a simple stomach illness to fall victim of such emotions.   
He would lie to himself if he were to say he wasn’t worried for his little friend. And on top of that, he couldn’t get to shake off the sick feeling that his presence might have even added to her distress. 

He huffed, paw nervously taking the pipe from his mouth as he hacked and spat some phlegm out onto the ground as he walked on. If there was something he really disliked, it was fussing over things, especially when there was absolutely no need to. 

Moominmamma certainly knew how to deal with that, and sure enough little Lucy would be right back outside in a couple of days, eventually revealing whatever bothered her on her own.   
And yet, somewhere deep in his bones the slightest hint of concern stirred and made him feel uneasy, restless.  _Doubtful_. 

He flicked his tongue at the opening of his pipe's mouthpiece, fiddling with it as he kicked another stone out of the way. That was too much brooding for his taste.   
He craved peace and silence. 

Perhaps some night fishing offshore would have done the trick. He needed some time alone with the sea.  

Settling for that, he finally crossed the bridge towards the other side of the river, then shuffled into his tent to retrieve his things. At the far right end of the tent laid his fishing rod, near which also rested his bucket. To them, he added a small ball of fishing line from the front pouch of his backpack, then rummaged inside. He took out his canteen – it was always wise to bring some water, just in case – which he secured at his hip under his coat, and then paused to think. 

 _What else did_ _he need_ _?_    
His knife was on him. His harmonica was in his pocket. His pipe… ah, it might have been a good idea to refill it.  
He drove his hand back in his bag, feeling around for his tobacco pouch. 

Originally, it was supposed to be an old, tattered hat from some Fillyjonk, which was instead rearranged into a pouch with the use of a loosely sewn string and a few buttons and pearls as decorations.   
Being already quite worn –  _and_ _refitted_ _by children_  – the stitches and decorations gave out quickly, but he still held that pouch very dear to himself, even though it needed some occasional patching up, or had some seepage here and there. But while a bit of seepage was normal and almost expected, he found himself quite disappointed upon finding it  _empty_. 

With a displeased snarl he pulled it out of his pack, then turned around and lifted one his tent’s flaps as he stepped out.   
Silence surrounded him, but he knew better than trust  _silence_.  

«Joxter,» he called, tobacco pouch tight in his fist as he placed it at his side. 

Rustling ensued, followed by the sound of a yawn and the subsequent moan from a satisfying stretch. The Mumrik peeked out of a bush not too far, shuffling closer as he scratched the back of his head, hat in his gloved paw. 

«Ah, you’re back. You’ve been gone for quite a while,» he stated, putting his hat back on and sitting at the roots of the tree holding up Snufkin’s tent, «I was beginning to think you may have fell down a ravine or got caught by some park keeper.» 

«I would very much like if you stopped smoking my tobacco without asking,» Snufkin snarled, throwing the tobacco pouch at his face. 

«That is precisely the reason why I—  _oof_ _!_ » the Joxter’s eyes instinctively squeezed shut at the collision, then picked up the empty pouch with a scowl, «...now, that was not very nice.» 

Snufkin scoffed at the other’s attempt to chastise him, «It wasn’t very nice to steal my tobacco either, was it? And yet, here we are.» 

«Aww, don’t you sound like a pathetic guard…?» 

«I’m serious. Stop.»  

«Hup, pff. Don’t make such a fuss, you can steal more tomorrow.» 

«I didn’t  _steal_  it, I  _asked_  for it.» 

«You did? How tedious.» 

«I don’t always need to steal, you know. There’s no need for that, here. Besides—» 

«Well, isn’t this pretty,» the Joxter interrupted him, now inspecting the tobacco pouch as he turned it around between his fingers, «And you even patched it up. You must be quite fond of this strange old hat. Why don’t you just throw it away? A tobacco pouch isn’t that hard to make, y’know.» 

The pouch flew back into Snufkin’s paws, which caught it mid-air and squeezed tightly. 

«It was a present,» he snapped, then promptly added, «and none of your business.» 

The Joxter shrugged, then made himself comfortable under the tree, crossing his legs and lowering his hat on his face. 

«I’m going to fish for the night,» Snufkin finally announced, thrusting the pouch in his pocket as he walked back to his tent and retrieved his things, «and I very much hope not to find you here when I come back. If bother is what you want to do,  _go bother someone else_.» 

And with that, bucket in his paw and fishing rod on his shoulder, Snufkin went.  
Concealed under the Joxter’s hat, chapped lips arched in an impish smirk. 


	8. Threat

Stirring.  
A feeble groan.

As blue eyes finally fluttered open, weakness and pain were the first things that welcomed the young Toffle back to consciousness.

However, there was one ache very different than the searing one shooting through her lower area. It was a churning discomfort settled in the pit of her stomach, combined with an unusually watering mouth.

_Hunger._

The moment she gulped down, her stomach growled and clenched in protest, demanding food. The little one let out a sigh, followed by a pathetic whimper at the uncomfortable gnaw that trailed after the first.

Shaky limbs pushed her up on the mattress, scooting closer to the edge of her bed. Knotted sheets tugged at her legs, and it took a few moments for her to untangle herself before finally sitting up.

Cedric was lying face-up on the floor, black button eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

It was then that she finally recognized a soothing smell of berries. It lingered around the room, stemming from a small tray on the table at the center of the room. It held a cup, covered by its own little plate, and another small platter, covered by a napkin.  
A little note sat nearby.

The Toffle took a tired, deep breath, then shot a quick look at the feet of her bed.  
Her chamber pot lay half-hidden underneath the bed frame, almost as a reminder of her ever growing struggle to relieve herself.

She felt pathetic.

Weak enough to cause such trouble to her own friends and family.  
A completely useless burden unable to care for, or look after herself.

She pushed herself forward, tiny feet finally stepping closer to the table, then finally picked up the little note by the tray.

 _“Dearest Lucy,”_ read the message, _“I truly hope you will feel a lot better when you wake up.”_

 _“I want to say sorry. Maybe we said something that made you very sad and scared, but we honestly had no intention to hurt you like that._  
_In fact, we miss you very much. We all want to play with you again._  
_You see, Moominmamma said that sometimes sickness requires a little more time to go away, and perhaps that’s why you need some more time to recover your strength. But it will be all better in the end.”_

A tiny heart was written in place of a full stop, and the Toffle’s own little heart clenched with even more remorse.

 _“I made you tea,”_ the note went on, _“and together with Moominmamma we baked a little tart with cream and loganberry. You know, loganberry seems to do great when someone isn’t feeling at their best. My brother loves it, and I’m sure you do, too, because it’s delicious!_

_I hope to see you again very soon. Please take care, and rest plenty!_

_Much love,  
Snorkmaiden.”_

The little note flew between the young Toffle’s arms, squeezed tight as if Snorkmaiden herself. The cup and plate on the tray were soon uncovered, and upon seeing what delicacies were concealed, her stomach grumbled again.

Red, loganberry tea along with the most delicious looking little tart were right there, faithfully waiting just for her. And this time she had no heart to turn down any of that fragrant, delicious offering.

One sip from the lukewarm tea turned into two. Then three. Then four, along with a bite of the — _oh, so delicious_ — tart. Soon enough, the plates were empty, and a warm, fuzzy feeling replaced the biting discomfort in her stomach.

The hint of another discomfort, however, slowly creeped around her shoulders in cold tendrils. A shiver ran down her spine. She craved warmth, contact.  
She longed for the safe, soft embrace of Moominmamma’s arms, and the gentle nuzzling of Snorkmaiden’s snout. Deep inside, she ached with the desire to join her friends’ games and laughter.  
She missed running after the hasty Little My, or sitting on the beach with Sniff and Snorkmaiden for hours, digging out seashells and little crabs.  
She missed the lush green grass, the bright sky, the warm sun, and the long naps under the tree shades with the soft background of Snufkin’s harmonica…

_...no._

No, there weren’t just games and fun out there, how stupid of her to believe that.  
There were predatory dangers. There was nobody to trust.  
She would have been too frail and weak to face them without succumbing… she couldn’t possibly leave the safety of the Moominhouse.

Yearning blue eyes looked up at the window. Behind the glass, the only source of light was the faint one of the moon, fleeting behind the heavy clouds of an approaching summer storm. The candle on her nightstand had almost fully burned.  
Silence was all around, a sign that she may have slept well past dinner time.

Was Moominmamma still awake? Was Snorkmaiden still there?  
Were the others already in bed?

With that thought, she took the shawl hanging from the backrest of her green chair and draped it on her tiny shoulders. Then, opened her room’s door, and quietly peeked outside.

The hallway was empty and dark, and some light shone in from below the staircase. Moominmamma’s quiet voice echoed in the corridor, albeit not fully intelligible, for she was speaking in a low tone. Moominpappa’s laugh followed, stifled beneath the walls.

Tiny feet slowly headed towards the staircase, then finally began to climb down the steps. It proved itself to be more of a challenge than expected due to the weak feeling in her limbs, but though slowly, she descended all the way to the last row, approaching her foster parents’ voices enough to finally grasp their words.

«…Mamma?» she muttered, at last.

A pause followed, then the sound of a chair scooting away from the table was followed by brisk steps.

Moominmamma appeared with an inquisitive look at the bottom of the stairs. A bright smile promptly bloomed on her features at the sight of the Toffle, greeting her with enthusiasm.

«Oh, Lucy!» she peeped, paws dipping into her apron to give them a quick dry, «Hello dear, are you feeling better?»

The little one now descended the stairs with more confidence, all the way to the bottom floor. Moominmamma’s paw was placed behind her back, and she nodded, albeit weakly.

«Mh,» she voiced, leaning into the mother’s touch, «…is Snorkmaiden still here?»

«I’m afraid not, dearest,» Moominmamma’s tone turned to an apologetic one, «It’s past bedtime. But you must feel very much awake, don’t you? Come, sit with Pappa. I will prepare some chamomile tea for you.»

Another nod followed, and the pair walked into the dining room.

«Pappa, dear? Look who came downstairs to join us!» chirped the mother, and Moominpappa’s kind gaze turned to the youngling, greeting her with the brightest of smiles.

«I am going to prepare some chamomile tea for her,» she went on, «would you mind having her sit with you in the meantime?»

«Oh, but not at all, Mamma. She’s the most welcome!»

Moominmamma’s gentle kiss at the top of the Toffle’s head was followed by disorienting, chilling emptiness once she scurried away.  
Without Moominmamma’s presence at her back, the coldest pair of blue, catty eyes stared almost painfully at her with lazy satisfaction, concealed under the large, red hat.

_The Joxter._

A freezing shiver shot down the young Toffle’s spine upon meeting his gaze, darting through her nerves like pure electricity. Her weak legs almost gave out at the painful shock, breath catching up with a lump in her throat, neither going up nor down with each, elaborated breath that followed.

                «Here’s our newest addition,» voiced Moominpappa, completely oblivious to the Toffle’s distress as he glanced towards his longtime friend, «I believe I haven’t introduced her to you yet, have I?»

The other shook his head, idly resting his chin at the top of his paw. In front of him, a plate with the remains of his dinner: some fish bones, smudges of mashed potatoes, olive pits, an apple core. A couple of toothpicks sat just inches away.

He inhaled a large puff of smoke from his pipe, then exhaled slowly.

                «Not formally,» he stated, «but I’ve seen her loitering about Snufkin’s tent a few times.»

                «Yes, they’re very good friends.»

                «Oh, I gathered as much,» the Joxter licked his lips, «he’s talked about her on a few occasions. He seems quite fond of this little one.»

                «We all are,» Moominpappa pointed out as he cleared his throat, «she’s come to us in a quite unusual way. You see, the police Inspector took her here.»

                «My, that sounds remarkable.»  
The Mumrik took the pipe out of his mouth, then trailed his gaze to the Toffle, «Pardon me. I haven’t fully grasped your name, dear.»

No answer came.

                «It’s Lucy,» Moominpappa declared in her place.

                « _Lucy,_ » the Joxter breathed, almost savoring the sound of her name as it rolled past his lips. He then proceeded to stand up with a scrape of his chair on the floorboards, pipe back between his lips.  
It took him only a few strides to approach her, piercing deep blue eyes fixed on hers, other paw lodged in his pocket, «…my pleasure.»

The Toffle gulped down bile, once again paralyzed in fear.  
She was unable to breathe, unable to speak. Unable to break eye contact, merely staring up into cold ice.

_He... he was in the Moominhouse._

He had just consumed a delicious meal together with her adoptive parents, neither of which appeared to mind his company. In fact, they both welcomed him in without batting an eye, allowing him to sit down with grubby clothes on the dining room’s pretty chairs, and fill the room with his tobacco’s and his own filthy stench. The leftovers’ smell added up to it in a dreadful mix of sickening odors, and their bare sight was enough to set nausea rise up her throat.

But what was worse, he was _talking_ to her. He was _staring_ at her.  
And she couldn’t have said a single word about it.

Nobody would have believed her. It was her word against his.  
She would’ve been gotten mad at, yelled at. She would’ve been chastised for being a liar.  
Her words could’ve riled him, and he would’ve attempted to get back at her, perhaps hurt her again.

She would have caused so much trouble to her foster family, and it would have been all her fault.  
All because she hadn’t been strong enough, unable to look after herself like she should have.

She could feel his gaze pierce right through her, and she felt too vulnerable, too exposed.  
He was looming over her, standing tall in the way of Moominpappa’s line of vision. His voice was deep and honeyed and fluctuated closer and closer, creeping into her head and turning almost instantly into an unbearable recollection of moans and huffs and pants.

Attempting to gulp down the big lump obstructing her throat, she finally took a step back.

«Lucy, come on,» Moominpappa urged from his seat, leaning slightly backwards to shoot a quick glance over the Joxter’s shoulder, «Do say something. Come, sit with us.»

At that point, the poor little Toffle had no other choice but respond, somehow.

Tiny arms wrapped around her own figure, then she finally shook her head.  
_No._

«…huh? _No?_ » Moominpappa frowned, now eyeing his friend — and earning a shrug in return, «What’s wrong?»

Again, no answer. Only a couple of labored gulps before she lowered her head.

                «Well, this is curious. I don’t recall her being this quiet,» commented the Joxter, exhaling another puff of smoke before using the stem of his pipe to raise her chin back up, «At least not when Snufkin was around. She could be so obnoxiously chatty...»

A choked whimper escaped the little one, soon followed by tears rolling down her cheeks.

                _«...M-Mamma—_ »

The Joxter raised an eyebrow, followed by a questioning noise from Moominpappa.

                «Lucy…?»

A sniffle. Then a sigh, and at last, a frantic wail.  
She was stiff, quivering, and completely defenseless.

The Joxter smirked.

                «Your child looks sickly, Moomin,» he announced, reaching a paw out to the swaying little Toffle’s shoulder and earning a frightened yelp at the touch.

                «She was,» the Moomin stated as he finally hurried over, tone shifting to a concerned one, «I told Moominmamma we could send for the Valley’s doctor, but she insisted that everything was fine.»

                « _...Mamma—! **Mamma**!!_ »

«Lucy, calm down,» urged Moominpappa, bending down in an attempt to look straight into her eyes, «Mamma will be back soon, I promise. Are you hurting, dear...?»

The Joxter’s gaze lazily shifted back and forth at the exchange between the two.  
His paw was still firmly planted on the Toffle’s shoulder, whiskers vibrating in annoyance at every shrill cry following each of Moominpappa’s questions.

 _Do you want to sit down?_  
_Where is the pain?_  
_Shall I bring you some water?_  
_Please, tell me…_

A whimper, and with it the little one shook her head vigorously. Vertigo almost instantly followed the movement, sending her swaying sideways.

The Mumrik’s paws were quick in grasping her arms, keeping her from sliding to the floor.  
«Alright, that’s enough,» he declared at last with a sigh. He smothered his pipe, then placed it back into his pocket, firmly pulling the child closer as he heaved her up into his arms.

«Go call your wife, this kid is sick,» he stated, motioning towards the garden with a nod of his head, «I will take her to bed, she should not be here. Where’s her room?»

A hint of relief crossed Moominpappa’s features, «Upstairs, first room to the left,» he responded, motioning upstairs with his paw, «Thank you very much, my friend.»

The Joxter gave an acknowledging nod in response, and with it the older Moomin finally turned on his heels and scampered outside.  
The sound of the backdoor slamming shut was followed by the Toffle’s helpless squeak, to which the Mumrik replied with a deep throated purr.

                «Now, love... let’s get you sorted.»


	9. Nightmares

The incoming storm rumbled in the distance.

Dense, gray clouds gathered into suffocating blankets in the dark night sky, smothering the feeble moonlight as they traveled northwest, driven by the howling wind.  
Each gust rustled among tree trunks and branches, shaking them to and fro as it wheezed and hissed. It took leaves and twigs and old nests with it, flying them up and about in haphazard swirls.

Drafts filtered through each smallest fissure beneath every window and door in the Valley, shrieking their way into dormant hallways.

It wasn't any different for the Moominhouse.

Curled up in her bunk bed, the young little Toffle trembled. Breath came out all too fast and strained, whimpering choked pleas every so often as moist, ripe breath settled on her right cheek.

Gloved filthy paws roamed all over her frail little frame without rest. They grazed up her shoulders, tickled her neck, glided up and down each accessible mound and crevice on her figure, slithering in hunger beneath the fabric of her gown.  
Honeyed words burned her ear where they were spoken in a soft, lecherous tone, occasionally emphasized by scorching kisses on her neck's tender skin in-between huffs and throaty moans.

Another, loud whimper joined the wind's cry.

_Please, Joxter... please, stop..._

The Joxter responded with a purr, voice husky and wanton as he left another chaste kiss to the youngling’s temple, tucking blonde hair behind her reddened ear.

                «Hush, child...» he crooned, paw skimming up her front to settle softly around her throat, «You don’t want them to hear, do you...?» he whispered, breathlessly. His fingertips lightly compressed the sides of her throat, and with it a desperate shake of her head came in response.  
No more sounds followed from the Toffle, aside from a distressed squeak as his digits slid downwards to where her cold paws attempted to preserve what little modesty was left to her.

It only took a few seconds of fumbling for him to force his way past the barrier of her fingers, capturing her wrists so that she couldn’t interrupt him again. And soon enough, her nightgown was one-handedly bunched up to her midsection, and his rough glove forcibly palmed through her bloomers, between shivering legs.

Deep rumbling resonated in the Mumrik’s chest as his middle and ring fingers outlined the Toffle’s privates from above the fabric, to which the little one keened softly. Her paw tensed around the other’s wrist in an attempt to still his motions, albeit it only resulted in more pressure and a jolt of pain as he prodded downwards.

                « _Delightful..._ » he purred in response to her squeak, paw untying her bloomers with a sharp tug.

The Toffle’s breathing increased, eyes squeezed shut at the disgusting feeling of his rough tongue now lapping up tears from her lashes. She felt  _trapped_.  
Numbing terror clutched her limbs, and all she could do was shudder, unable to move.  
He was completely enveloping her from behind, spooning her so that she had no way out. His hips grazed lazily against her rear while his other paw was wrapped around her neck, holding her still through his ministrations. 

The coarse, filthy fabric of his gloves scraped against her skin as he traveled towards his aim. It hurt, it  _burned_ , and the ever present twinge in her privates only grew worse as he began toying with her.

                «Such a lovely little beast...» he crooned again, leaving soft pecks on her cheek at each choked whimper that followed his motions. He kneaded and rubbed back and forth, occasionally shifting to different patterns. His fingers shifted lower and lower, until he finally found her swollen entrance.

_No... please..._

As his fingers made their way inside, her body tensed in sizzling pain, shrieking at the aching wave that shot through her lower area.

                «Tut, tut. Be quiet, little one...» he chastised, letting go of her convulsing paws to stifle her cries, «What would happen if your mama found you in such a state, hm…?»

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut.  
His fingers pushed painfully deep, fabric raking her inner walls as he tickled her insides, awakening the relentless, horrible pressure in her abdomen.

                « _N-gh! Sto—!_ »

                «How would she feel if she found her child like this…?»

                « _Mhmmph!_ »

                «Such a delicate blossom, letting me spread and pick her pretty petals...»

                « _Nnnhh! Joxter—_ »

                «Writhing in my arms as she moans my name… how lewd.»

His paw tensed around her throat again and he dove for a hungry kiss, muffling her pleas as he pulled out his fingers and replaced them with his length. Then, as he finally grasped her hips, he pulled himself flush against her, and with it she lost her bladder.

 

* * *

 

The wild, wrenching screech that followed echoed in the empty room as she sprung up on her mattress.

She was alone. Nobody was there to hold her down and harm her, and yet panic tightened its grip on her, warping her senses and twisting her insides. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and her lungs ached with each labored breath that pushed out more frantic cries and moans.

Then, suddenly, the mattress beneath her felt all too warm and wet.  
The burning, sizzling pain in her groin made her squirm, hissing as she attempted to scramble out of drenched sheets in complete darkness.

It was then that her room’s door opened, startling her into another raw, nightmarish wail.

                «Oh, dear, dear… what happened?»

Moominmamma’s soft figure appeared behind the faint light of a candle. She was wrapped in a delicate cotton nightshirt, hastily shuffling closer to her frantic daughter.

                «Hush… hush it’s alright,» she murmured, leaving the candlestick on the table before crouching before her child, «It’s alright, I’m here…»

                « _Mamma— **Mamma**!!_ »

A series of gut-wrenching cries and hiccups followed even as the mother held her quivering child, wiping tears and mucus with bare paws. She cradled her quietly, allowing her to dig her nails into her arms and heave on her fur, waiting in silence for her to calm down even when a second candle appeared in the hallway, behind which a very worried Moominpappa peeked into the room.

                «I’m here…» Moominmamma spoke in a soft tone, rubbing the Toffle’s back up and down in soothing motions. Her cries were gone, but she was still quivering and hiccupping in distress. The mother’s brow furrowed in concern: another nightmare, no doubt. She could smell her fear.

But what threw her off balance was dampness at the bottom of her nightgown. She tentatively reached out to the mattress to check, only to be stopped in her tracks.

                « _S— so—rry…_ »

That apology croaked out in the faintest tone confirmed her doubts: she wet her bed.  
She had never done it before — at least not since she arrived, and such realization made her bristle. There had to be something serious going on, especially added up to all these symptoms she had been showing in the past weeks.

                «Shhh, it’s okay, dear…» she crooned, stamping a tender kiss on her forehead, «It’s easily sorted. Come, let’s go downstairs to—»

The loud crack of lightning interrupted the mother and made the Toffle seek protection in her arms with a squeak, soon followed by pattering and rushing rain on the other side of the closed window.

                «…it’s just the storm, sweetheart,» Moominmamma comforted her, stroking her hair.  
«Hold onto my paw. Let’s go.»

The little one barely spoke through all that came after.  
She was guided to the washroom, where her mother kindheartedly sponge-bathed her in the dim candlelight as she cried. She was helped into fresh clothes, then silently watched as her foster parents worked together to fix up her drenched mattress and set up a clean set of bedsheets.  
She was then offered another cup of hot chamomile tea, and once drinking it all she was kissed goodnight and left alone with the silence.

Rain thrummed against the window, interrupted here and there by the distant roaring of the storm. Wind howled and wheezed, and the Toffle curled up even more under fragrant bedsheets, nose barely sticking out from underneath their soft cotton.

Lightning flashed up her room again, and her eyes lay on top of the empty bench under the window.  
Earlier that night, the Joxter himself sat there to smoke his pipe. He'd carried her up, left her on her mattress, and after planting a soft kiss to her temple, he'd retired and sat in that corner the whole time Moominmamma attempted to ease her panic.

                «How can  _one_  child cause so much fuss?» He commented at some point, to which Moominmamma looked up and promptly replied, «She's very tired, dear Joxter.»

Her soft paws never left her quivering figure as she cradled her, not even when he harrumphed, «That’s what sleep is for.»

                «Sometimes it's not as easy, I fear. Surely Mymble also has her fair share of fussing to take care of, has she not?»

A pause followed, in which he took a drag of smoke from his pipe.

                «Hup, pff,» he mumbled, taking off his hat as he lay down on the bench, «For all I know, she doesn't wait for her children to stop fussing. She  _makes_  them stop.»

                «An impressive method indeed, although I trust my little one will settle down on her own with some patience,» was Moominmamma's comment, and with her paws softly stroking her hair, the Toffle's memory faded to black. The next thing she knew were the Joxter's paws wandering about, kneading into her, scorching warmth enveloping her from behind as he soiled her with musty spit and ripe breath.

Even now, her skin felt tacky and filthy with his foul presence. Her neck where he planted his kisses felt tender.  
He'd been there. He  _had_  to be there. And yet when Moominmamma rushed to her room there was no one but her.

_Just a dream.  
                A terrible, terrible dream._

A pathetic whimper left her lips, and with it tiny feet kicked under her bedsheets as she turned to the other side.

 

* * *

 

                «…how could you. »

He was standing straight, fists balled at his sides.  
His tone was harsh, resentful, warm brown eyes twisted into a rancorous glare where once there was kindness. Thin lines emerged under his lower lids, expression twisting into one of biting disappointment as he clenched his jaw. He looked upset, horrified.

_…Snufkin—_

                «What were you thinking… how could you say such _lies_ about my father…»

The Toffle's heart skipped a beat. It was a mere instant, and yet it felt as if time had stopped.  
His statement came crashing down on her like a cold shower, paws tingling and shaking at the atrocious shiver that followed.  
Tears blurred up her sight, burning at the corners of her eyes like acid. A lump swelled up in her throat, making it harder and harder to breathe by the second.  
Or maybe it was the pang in her heart, now pounding painfully in her ribcage as hurt and betrayal clawed their way into her, clenching, spasming, then nestling deep in the pit of her stomach.

                «I…» her voice faltered, «I d-did not lie…»

His upper lip twisted in a grimace.

                «You really don't get it, do you? You should've kept quiet. You should've known better.»

He took a nervous step forward, to which the Toffle responded with a jolt. She backed up.

_No, Snufkin, don't—_

                «Did you really think that by getting him thrown in jail everything would be settled? Well, has anything _changed_ now...? _Where_ is the dignity you craved so much?»

He was livid. _He was terrifying_.  
He did not raise his voice, nor say anything else than that, and yet the disgust written in his expression was horribly clear.

_You’re broken. You’re rotten.  
Even if he’s in jail, none of this will ever change._

_Snufkin, please—_

He scoffed.

                «How can a Toffle even _begin_ to understand what freedom means to a Mumrik?»  
He spat on the ground in scorn, then stepped closer.

                «There's no rule that can bind a Mumrik. No inspector, no park keeper, no guardian that can keep a Mumrik prisoner for too long. How gullible you can be, Lou... he's not the only Mumrik in this Valley.»  
He smirked, then declared, «He's already out.»

The Toffle gulped down in horror, unable to move.  
_He... he freed him?_

_S-Snufkin, no... no, you're lying… you haven't—_

 

**_He's not here, little flower..._ **

 

Sky blue eyes snapped open with a jolt, followed by a desperate gasp for air.  
Her lungs spasmed and wheezed with the horrible impression of drowning again, as if smothered in viscous, black fluid much like the dark, dark ink Moominpappa used to write with. Darkness tarred her surroundings, while rain kept batting relentlessly against the glass of her window.

Her head spun, her chest felt tight with anguish, and only after the first flashes of wakefulness she noticed her cheeks were damp with tears and sweat.

It was when she attempted to wipe it with her paw that she found she was unable to move, lying limply on her belly with heavy, unresponsive arms on either side of her pillow.  
She keened.

                «Don't be afraid, love... _I'll take care of you._ »

The Toffle's breath caught up in her throat with a choked noise.

                «... _J-Joxter_...»

A throaty purr was his response as he placed his black paw on her shoulder. Her eyes widened in horror, mattress giving out under his movements as he inched closer.

                «Hush, darling, it's okay...» he crooned, planting a kiss to her temple.  
He straddled her, then immobilized her wrists in a tight grip while his other paw skimmed downwards, slithering underneath her figure to reach her front.

                «I won't hurt you. You ought to be handled with care...»

_No. **NO**._

                «...stop— _please, stop!_ »

An irritated growl resonated in the Joxter's chest, and suddenly his tight grip released her wrists and darted to her mouth.

                « _Quiet now, will you…?_ » he hissed, looming menacingly over her shuddering figure.  
His fingers dug into her cheeks, squeezing violently to suppress her noises. It hurt, and her paws instinctively wrapped around his forearms in a poor attempt to ease the pain from his hold.   
It was then that she realized she could move. Her sleep paralysis was gone.

What came after was a jumble of muffled grunts and moans, along with wild rustling of fabric, fast breathing, and the low, threatening murmurs that he uttered in her ear.  
She screamed into his paw, kicked her feet, tossed, thrashed and flailed, and yet no matter how hard she tried, he proved to be much stronger and heavier than her. He held her painfully tight, easily keeping her still in his grasp.

An exhausted whine died against his gloved palm. She was breathless and completely drained by then, and the only thing that was left in her power was cry, beating little paws on her pillow and mattress in an attempt to make any kind of noise.

                «There, now... that's good...»

_Stop... stop, stop...!_

A sloppy kiss was placed on the side of her neck, leaving a hot, slimy trace of spit in its wake.

 _No… no, let me go…_  
                 **Let me go!**

Her paw fisted her pillow, and that was when her she got a hold of something. It was soft and fuzzy, wedged in the corner of her bunk bed. It felt like her only anchor, a small little helping hand as her body finally gave out in defeat under his strength.

                «Good... be good, little one,» he hummed, breath quivering in delight as he readjusted his weight on his knees, «There's no need to make such a fuss. This is what the freshest, most beautiful flowers are for, don't you think?»

She hiccupped, head shaking in response.

                «...no? Ah, but I saw you there... you were doing just the same.»  
His paw trailed up to her head, leaving a delicate little pat on her soft hair, «…you and Snufkin. Choosing the best flowers of the patch… entwining their stems—» he crossed his fingers with hers, «...in bright, fragrant bouquets and wreaths.»

His hips grazed against her back, and her hold tightened around the soft object in her paw, squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to detach herself from that horrible, horrible moment.

It wasn't true. Just a bad dream...  
Just a bad dream.

_Joxter… please…_

                «Hush, little treasure. Hush…»

His weight shifted, and in one swift movement he crawled into her bloomers.  
Her paw jerked.

                « _Ouff—!_ »

Clattering and crashing echoed in the room as the object collided with his face and went flying across the room, and with it her mouth was finally free to breathe. Free to **shout**.

Her wildest screech followed.


	10. Shock

Thunder and lightning had chased one another through the night, wind howling in tune with their raucous booming and banging. The rain steadily pattered along, whispering its fury as it washed down roofs and walls and windows.  
It was nothing more than a summer storm, very common during that time of the year. And like every storm, even that one was bound to end.

And yet, what had set the two Moomin parents up and out of their beds was no bright flash of lightning, nor the loud rolling thunder that followed.

It had been the skin crawling screech from their little Toffle's room, mingled with a series of alarming crashes and clunks and thuds that had the both of them leap up like springs, bolting out without even wearing their slippers.

They only grabbed their candles, drowsily stumbled along the hallway, and finally reached her door.  
As they swung it open, a startled wail greeted their entrance.  
Their eyes shot towards the source, bristling at the sight.

The poor Toffle was curled up on the floor in a small shivering heap, sobbing pitifully. A paw was up to her head as if to shield herself, the other down to tug at her nightgown. Her bedsheets had partially fallen off the bed with her, hem still tangled around her leg.

               «Heavens above, whatever happened to you?»

Moominmamma's alarmed gasp had been quick to follow as she hurried over, much like Moominpappa's flinch at the loud thunder that roared into the room from the open, dripping window.

It took him a few quick strides to walk towards it, leaving his candlelight on the table at the center of the room. Chilly, moist drafts entered the room in a tangle of curtains, under which one of Moominmamma's most valued flower vases was broken into shards.

Raindrops and water from the drainpipes were leaking inside and onto the window seat's cushions, so in order to avoid further damage he clutched the shutters and pushed them close in a swift, forceful motion.

Then, silence.

He took a deep breath.  
That window was known to be faulty, and no matter how many times he attempted to fix it, it still ended up busting open as soon as the wind got slightly stronger than normal. He ought to give it another try later that day.

He carefully circled around the ceramic shards, returning to the table, then looked about the room.

His own candle had been blown out by the wind, but in the dim light coming from Moominmamma's he could make out the shape of a few objects on the floor, such as a heap of books and a broken candlestick right by his right foot.

               «Lucy, dear…» Moominmamma's voice mingled with the poor Toffle's distressed whimpers, muffled by the soft fabric of her nightgown as she caressed the back of her head, «I'm here… shhh. Don't cry anymore…»

Moominpappa's ears twitched ever-so-slightly at his wife's words. They were spoken in her usual soft, soothing tone, but... for a second, he thought he'd heard her voice _tremble_.

No, that was impossible. Moominmamma always knew how to handle such situations.

Shaking that bizarre thought out of his head, he bent down and reached out to the items on the floor. He picked up the broken candle and one of the books, placing them back on top of the table. Then the candle holder, followed by a second book.  
It was when he attempted to pick up the last book that he noticed something else: a small mound of fuzz, sprawling on the floor in front of the bookcase.

He shuffled closer to it.  
_Oh_.

Upon picking it up, it turned out to be the little plush Sniff used to sleep with... only in a much worse condition than the last time it was seen. The stitching around the neck had torn, and now the head was leaning to one side, letting stuffing fluff seep through the gap. One of the black buttons for his eyes was gone who-knows-where — and it was too dark to find it now. The other button dangled precariously from the thin string keeping it attached to the soft head.

The poor thing must have been whatever had knocked those books off the table. And it wasn't hard to figure that it must've been thrown by the Toffle in her sleep. He placed it on the table, then shuffled closer to his women.

Moominmamma's paws were holding her child's reddened face, resting her forehead against hers. Tiny paws held tight onto Moominmamma's soft fur, distressed whimpers and tears pouring against her chest as she caressed the Toffle's blonde head.

               «Is she ill again…?»

At Moominpappa's question, the mother carefully nuzzled the child's forehead.

               «No,» she responded, after a pause, «she's sweating, but she doesn't seem to be running a fever.»

               «That’s good,» he mumbled as he relit his own candlelight with his wife's, «but she ought to get back to bed. She cannot stay on the floor like that, lest she get a cold…»

But before anything could be done, the Toffle's head shook vigorously. Her fists tightened on Moominmamma's fur, and with it her cries had gotten more frantic.  
The parents stopped in their tracks.

               «Hush, love…» Moominmamma crooned, returning to stroking her back, «Shhh… was it another nightmare? Do you want to tell me what happened?»

The child hiccupped, then violently shook her head again.

               «It's alright, there’s no need to. We’re here now, you’re safe.»

It took a considerable amount of comforting, cradling and waiting before the poor Toffle could calm down. Their candles had noticeably reduced in size once she finally took a deep, although shaky breath.

               «There… that’s good.» Moominmamma looked down at her child’s tired, tired eyes with a reassuring smile, «Do you want to come to our room? You can sleep with us, if you’d like…»

A short pause, then the Toffle responded with a nod.

Wrapped in her shawl, paw tight into her mother’s, she was guided by Moominpappa's candlelight into the next room and in Moominmamma's warm bed. She was offered a glass of water, and once downing a good half of it, it took her barely a few moments to snuggle up under the blankets and finally close her eyes, sleeping without interruptions until the next morning.

 

* * *

 

A week had passed.

Since then, the poor little Toffle could rest easy only in Moominmamma's bed.  
She refused to go anywhere near her own room without her, and even when going downstairs she would never get too far from her field of vision.  
Silent as a shadow she tottered after her, observing her as she cooked, or wordlessly helping her out with her chores.

She still ate very little, but finally began joining them for dinner again. Her meals consisted in meagre soups and porridges — of which she would usually eat less than half — but Moominmamma rejoiced in having her sitting at the table with them.

There were still times in which she would whimper and mumble in her sleep. Sometimes she would calm down on her own, other times she required Moominmamma’s soft and safe hold.  
But no matter what, before she closed her eyes she was always there, singing to her,

_Snuggle up close, and shut your eyes tight,_   
_and sleep without dreaming the whole of the night._   
_All danger is gone, and your mother is near_   
_to keep you from harm till the morning is here._

That morning seemed to begin relatively well.

After a quiet sleep, interrupted only by occasional stirring, Moominmamma woke up with her young daughter curled up against her.  
She would usually leave her bed and get to her chores shortly after she opened her eyes, but at the sight of her relaxed expression after so long, relief washed over her, lips curving into a smile. It reminded her of when her son was oh-so small, and soft, and vulnerable.

And oh, how vulnerable that poor little Toffle was.  
So young, and yet with so much experience about misfortunes and heartbreaks.

At times, she would mumble things, things she was not supposed to know. Things like pain, and harm, and fear.  At times, Moominmamma’s own heart would clench, and her attempts to soothe her daughter turned out to be also attempts to soothe herself.

Being a mother was no easy task. It surely brought blessed times of joy and fulfillment, but there were also days of sorrow, in which she could do nothing else but grieve along with her loved ones. Even when she didn’t show.

Lucy woke up not too long after her.  
They washed their muzzles and got ready for the day, and once all was tidied and done they headed down to the kitchen, Moominmamma treading ahead, little Toffle in tow.  
As usual, the youngling was quiet and laidback in demeanor, but otherwise seemed serene.

It was somewhere mid-morning that Moomintroll’s ringing voice called for his parents’ attention from the living room.

               «Mamma! Pappa!»

               «Yes, dear?», called the mother, waiting for her son to get to her.  
She proceeded with serving platters of freshly baked pancakes on each side of the dining room's table, silver tray balanced in her paws.  
Moomintroll's voice was high-pitched and a little short of breath. Behind him pitter pattered Little My and Sniff’s hurried footsteps, along with enthusiastic shouts. It most certainly sounded like they were about to share some exciting news.

               «Mamma! The mailman came by!»

               «Oh, good!» commented Moominmamma, setting the final platter in front of her husband. She wiped her paws in her apron, «Who might that be from? What’s with all the fuss?»

Sniff and Little My appeared behind the doorframe where Moomintroll finally stood, eagerly waving the letter in his paw.

               «It’s from Ninny!» they shouted, as one.

               «Ninny?»  
Moominpappa folded his newspaper, and Moominmamma's ears wiggled in delight, «Oh, what a wonderful surprise! Hurry, open it, son. What does it say?»

It was incredible how one letter could be able to lighten up a whole family’s mood.

Breakfast went by through affectionate recollections and curious anecdotes, such as how apple picking turned into finally getting to see a pair of spindly paws under an invisible body, or when Moominmamma’s old pink shawl turned into the most precious little dress, or how a small headless child ended up biting Moominpappa’s tail — who still rubbed it with a wince at the memory.

Lucy observed their exchange from her corner of the table, listlessly stirring her porridge with a spoon that was brought to her mouth only when Moominmamma watched.  
But most of their conversation went past deaf ears anyway; shifting from one leg to another, the poor Toffle attempted to quell the hardly tolerable itch that never really left her nethers. She excused herself from the table twice, hoping that relieving herself would help, but only seemed to get worse, doubling her over in seething pain at each tiny drop that left her body.

By the time she was back from her third visit to the washroom Moominmamma was already clearing the table, welcoming her back with a smile.

               «The children have gone to play on the beach,» she announced. Then, as she would usually do, she added, «they said they will be waiting for you if you wish to join them.»

A silent nod in acknowledgement, then the Toffle lowered her head.  
               «Thanks, but... I better stay.»

Moominmamma did not insist, and instead proceeded with folding the tablecloth. The Toffle was well aware she had all the freedom she wanted in case she wished to join her friends. She observed as her little one picked up the pile of dirty dishes, disappearing behind the kitchen’s corner in a series of shuffling footsteps.

The mother bit her lower lip.

That wasn’t her Lucy.  
The poor Toffle’s character changed too suddenly, too deeply to be right. Something was very, very wrong with her child, and it left an uncomfortably eerie feeling at the top of her stomach.

It was later that day that Moominmamma’s suspicions were undisputably confirmed.

               «...Mamma?»

The pair had been folding linens in Lucy’s room for a while when the young Toffle’s voice broke Moominmamma’s delicate humming.

               «Yes, dear?»

               «Mamma... who’s Ninny?»

A pause followed, in which Moominmamma finished folding a pillowcase, and set it aside.  
Nobody really took care of explaining how Ninny ended up in their house. They had been so excited to hear she was doing well that they forgot poor little Lucy had no idea who she was.

               «Oh, she was a young guest we had over for some time, a few years ago. You see, darling, Too-ticky took her here, because the poor thing had turned invisible.»

               «...Too-ticky took her here...? Like— like the Inspector did with me?»

               «...well. More or less, I suppose. That aside, she was very much like you, actually.»

               «Was she a Toffle, too?»

               «That, darling, I don’t know. But she was a small kind, with bright red hair and big, green eyes. Turned out to be very much like Little My, in the end.»

Another pause followed, in which Lucy fidgeted with the edges of a pile of freshly folded nightgowns, lost in thought. And Moominmamma waited, knowing too well that there was more her child wanted to ask.

               «...how... how did she get invisible?»

               «Well, you see... if people are frightened very often, it may happen that they start to fade around the edges, and before you know it, they become invisible.»

The Toffle shifted her eyes, then lowered her head in thought.

               «Ninny happened to have a mean, ironic aunt who belittled her with each chance she had. That’s what happens when taken care by someone who doesn’t really like you, I suppose. But as you could see from her letter, she’s doing much better now.»

               «...what if...» Lucy stirred softly, readjusting her weight on her other leg.

               «Mh?»

               «...what if I become invisible?»

 

* * *

 

Moominmamma was never one to worry about things. Never.

And yet, once getting Lucy to sleep, she ended up knocking on the sky-blue room’s door, seeking for her husband’s help.

 _She’s scared_ , she said.  
_All these nightmares aren’t right_ , she added.  
_She’s avoiding her friends, she’s isolating herself. She barely speaks._

 _Watch over her_.  
_Something is haunting her._

And so it was decided.

For the following nights, the Toffle wasn’t left alone one second, aside from the — all too frequent — times she rose for the washroom. Both of them kept one ear open for anything, may it be mewls, cries… _words_.

 _Stop..._  
               No...  
               Let me go...

But no nightmare or night terror made Moominpappa’s tail stand on end like that of that fated night.

The children had gone out camping with Snufkin after a hearty meal — needless to say, Lucy preferred not to join them for dinner — and once kissing her daughter goodnight Moominmamma found it was the ideal evening to mend the ever-growing pile of torn garments and linens.  
Moominpappa was almost done with the newest chapter of his memoirs anyway, so instead of the sky-blue room, he brought his scribbled papers to his bedroom and started proofreading them, adding notes here and there as he watched over the little one.

His mind flew back to the days of his youth where his reckless self, along with Friedrikson, the Muddler and the Joxter, would scamper about with defiance towards any rule, any form of boundary. He remembered the times when they aimed to found a colony, and a nostalgic smile crossed his lips.  
Oh, it was all so new, so magical. It felt like the whole world belonged to them, and although peculiar and sly in his ways, the Joxter never missed to tag along each and every one of their adventures. He was his best friend after all, a strong bond that seemingly ended up living on with their children, now.

A feeble whine dragged him back to reality.

_No… no—_

The young Toffle was stirring, heaving in her sleep.  
Alarmed, Moominpappa jumped off of his bed, scurrying closer to the little one’s and placing a paw on her brow, like Moominmamma used to do.

               «Hush, child… it’s alright, you’re safe. I’m here…»

_No— stop!  
               Don’t… don’t— touch!_

Moominpappa instinctively drew back, and with it he licked his lips, looking around the room in an attempt to find an idea. Anything would be good, anything...

_Stop... please—  
               It hurts..._

**It hurts.**

               «Lucy! Oh, dear... Lucy, what’s wrong? Where does it hurt...? What—»

_Stop! Stop...!  
               NO—!_

By then, the poor Toffle was thrashing, in tears.  
No amount of comforting seemed to have any effect. Her forehead grew so clammy her hair began sticking to her skin, and he found himself at a loss.  
Moominmamma... he needed to call—

_No—  
               Stop—! Joxter... s-stop!!_

The Moomin froze in his spot.  
**Joxter.**  
What— what was that about...? His paws tightened around the youngster’s shoulders.

_Stop it... stop, it hurts...!_

               «Lucy… Lucy, wake up...!»

_Please— stop!_

               «Wake up!!»

Unfocused eyes snapped open. And with it, panic ensued.

Legs kicked, paws clawed, and tiny, sharp nails scratched at Moominpappa's snout accompanied by loud and incoherent screeching. She was hysterical.  
Bigger and stronger paws clamped around her wrists, forcing them still in an attempt to keep her from harming herself, but it only seemed to add to her frenzy. Distraught, she wormed about, and within seconds they rolled off the mattress, tumbling onto the cold floor with a crash.

               « _MAMMA—! **MAMMA**!!_ »

               «Whatever is happening here!?»


	11. Confession — Moominmamma

That alarming series of sounds and screeches had Moominmamma’s ears perk up way earlier than the moment her name was called. Tossing her needlework aside, she almost tripped in her own feet as she rushed upstairs, paws clenching on the handrail as tight as the piercing bite clamped around her stomach.  
She was mere feet away from her bedroom when Moominpappa howled her name, and as she opened the door she was welcomed by the most concerning sight.

Her child was crying, frantically thrashing under the weight of her own husband. His paws were firmly clamped around her tiny wrists, straddling her in an attempt to hold her still.  
He had been pining her to the floor.

               «Whatever is happening here!?»

She darted past her husband's frame with a gasp and kneeled by her spasming child, where she abruptly freed her of his hold. And just like a terrified little critter, the poor Toffle immediately clawed at her apron and scrambled into her lap, where she was welcomed by her tight, safe hold.

               «What is the meaning of all this?» Moominmamma's voice hitched as she turned to her husband, awaiting some justification. The little one was wheezing against her fur, tiny arms wrapped around her body in a constricting hold, still attempting to scramble further away into the corner. And shielding her eyes with an arm the mother crooned, holding her head close to her heart.

               «S-s... she was hysterical, Mamma!» Moominpappa's explanation came stuttered, voice shaking along with his paws as he pointed at her.  
               «She was having a nightmare, I think, I— I don’t know, she was thrashing, and—»

The little one coughed harshly, and he kept from speaking any further, brow furrowing in concern. Even Moominmamma seemed unsure of what to do.  
With a disoriented noise, he stood on wobbly legs, rubbing his abused snout in the process.

 _Joxter_.

It was the first time his best friend's name had chills run down his spine like that. They had been through thick and thin together. He had always been there, a familiar face he never failed to find when looking to his side. He would've trusted him with his own life.

And yet, his name came past the lips of a small, frantic child. _His_ child.

What was she possibly dreaming about…? Why a nightmare?  
Perhaps... perhaps he didn't hear well. Perhaps he hallucinated, still caught in his memories.  
No. It was clear as water.

_Stop it, Joxter.  
It hurts._

What— what was he doing to her? Why the... no. No. He would never.

And yet, the more he attempted to convince himself it was just a nightmare, the more the sight of his wife attempting to soothe a terrified, hysterical child clawed at his stomach.  
Painfully. Nauseatingly.

He needed out.

* * *

  
It was later on that Moominmamma silently headed back downstairs.

She carefully closed the door behind her, then began descending the staircase with a deep sigh. Her head hung low, footsteps quietly tapping their way down as she held onto the handrail, helplessly mulling over the events of the past hour.

The more time passed, the more the situation seemed to drop.  
It was starting to weigh so much on the whole family's shoulders that she was unsure what to do.  
The children were asking questions, and she soon realized she was growing as clueless as Moominpappa.  
And no matter how many times she leafed through her grandma’s book, it seemed like not even her could be of help at that time.

And all the while, her poor child's condition only grew worse. It was oh, so painful to watch.  
But she _had_ to do something.

She had been so absorbed by her thoughts that it was only once reaching the bottom of the staircase that she noticed the presence of a very distressed Moominpappa.  
He was sitting at the living room's table, back leaning against the backrest, gaze staring into space. His paws were absentmindedly fidgeting with one of her spare spools.

               «Pappa? Have you been here the whole time?»

The elder Moomin looked up at his wife, then hummed in response.

               «I thought I could leave things in your paws,» he muttered, picking up one of the spools that fell sideways, «She was... frightened of me, it seems.»

«She's frightened of many things, not just you. But,» the mother sighed, joining her husband at the table, «perhaps restraining her might have been a little too unorthodox for her.»

Moominpappa cleared his throat, lowering his gaze in shame. Moominmamma would have handled it better for sure. But after what he'd heard, didn't know how else to react.

_Stop it, Joxter.  
It hurts._

His child had been thrashing and crying in her sleep. And... _his best friend was hurting her_.

               «...are these of her doing?»

               «Uh...? »

               «Your nose,» Moominmamma gestured.

Moominpappa rubbed his abused snout, then nodded.

               «I told you she was hysterical,» he responded, allowed Moominmamma to inspect it, «I did not know what to do. As soon as I woke her, it seemed like she was determined to skin me alive.»

Moominmamma came to a halt, «You woke her?»

               «I had to, Mamma,» Moominpappa’s brow creased, gesturing as he explained himself, «I tried to soothe her your way, but no matter what I did, she kept sleep talking and thrashing. Somebody was hurting her, Mamma. Somebody—»

He bit his tongue in a pause, pulling back from his wife’s caring paws and tightening his own into fists. He looked down at the table, then rubbed his snout in defeat.

               «…I couldn’t stand to hear any more.»

               «Oh, Pappa...»

It was Moominmamma’s brow which furrowed, now.  
She wrapped her arms around her husband’s shoulders and gave him a gentle squeeze, then lovingly nuzzled the side of his snout like she used to do since before they were married.

 _I’m here. It’s alright,_ it would mean.

It was a small endearing gesture that she would share with him each time something bothered him, or when, back in his most reckless days, he would get caught in some trouble.  
And each time, he would reach up to her paw and return the squeeze with the hint of a smile on his lips.

As time passed, many things changed, but that gesture remained just the same.

Oh, he was a loving father, for sure. He would go out of his way in order to protect his own family, and he proved it several times when danger loomed close to their household. She saw it in his worried looks each time any of the children got back hurt or ill, or every time he would scold their Moomintroll after finding him up to mischief — such a Moomintroll, just like his father.

But this time, that little gesture that used to ease his worries once, now seemed to have no effect at all.  
The pair sat wordlessly, leaning against each other in a thoughtful silence.

Then, his paw reached up to hers, and gave it a loving squeeze.

               «...I’m at a loss, Mamma,» he admitted, «When we took her in, we were supposed to give her a loving home where to grow safe and protected.»

               «I know, Pappa. We are doing what we can.»

A sigh, and Moominpappa shook his head.

               «Mamma... that nightmare. She was in pain. Someone— _someone_ was hurting her.»

               «I know... but who?»

Moominpappa's hold tightened around his wife's soft paw in a trembling grip.  
Then, a nod.

               «...hm. **Joxter**.»

* * *

   
_It can't be, Mamma. They never met each other before._

The previous night's discussion kept replaying in the mother's head even as she bustled about the kitchen, pots and pans whistling and fizzling away on the stove.

_He can be an eccentric fellow, that I admit.  
But he's my friend. He would have told me if she stirred up trouble, don't you think?_

Moominmamma flipped a pancake.  
Yes, logically that would have been the normal course of action. It wouldn't have been the first time either, considering all the times they were told about the children getting up to mischief.

But she knew her daughter. She was a very well-behaved young girl — even too much, at times — and she found it hard to believe she could have riled the laidback Joxter to the point of hitting her.

_We grew up together, Mamma. I trust him like I trust anyone under this very roof.  
There is no way he could have voluntarily harmed our child. _

And it was true, Moominpappa clearly trusted his old friend very much. He would have him at his dining table, and let him in and out through the window in the sky-blue room at his leisure, which she only found out about once finding him asleep, curled up all nice and cozy in Moominpappa’s armchair.

At times, he would also liberally pick and pocket his drying tobacco leaves — with or without permission wouldn’t make any difference for the Joxter. The only rules he adhered to were those that suited him, and even then, oftentimes he would just choose to make his own.

All things considered, he was a very predictable individual, most of the time. A Joxter of habit, so to speak.  
It wouldn’t take much to figure his interests, which mostly revolved about basic needs. Eat. Sleep. Smoke.  
A lackadaisical Mumrik in all respects, much like a cat dozing in the sun.

_He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not without a reason._

Moominmamma shook soap out of her paws, then wiped them in her apron.

_It has to be just one of her nightmares, Mamma.  
Frightening, for sure, but... they’re dreams. Just— dreams, right?_

Warm oatmeal was soon poured into a tiny bowl and topped with blueberries. On the table laid the silver tray, on which a small cup of freshly brewed loganberry tea was covered by its own saucer.  
The clock read past mid-morning, and while the children weren’t expected to come back home until late that afternoon, both Moominpappa and Lucy were nowhere in sight.

She was certain Moominpappa would have been brooding all night in the sky-blue room — he wasn't in bed when she woke up that morning — but Lucy? Could her little Toffle still be locked up in her room?

Poor, poor thing. She had been so startled by Moominpappa that she couldn’t find rest in their room anymore. The only solution had been to take her back in her own bedroom, and even then, it took Moominmamma a great deal of comforting before she could finally find peace.

She picked up the tray with a sigh, then started forward.  
Her daughter was never an independent one. Ever since they took her in, it wasn't rare for her to require words of comfort and encouragement with each step out of her comfort zone. But she was doing better just recently.

Slowly but surely, she began venturing out. She played with her friends.  
She smiled more, talked more.

There were still times in which she would come home in tears, may it be for a scraped knee, an inappropriate remark, or some dangerous game with water — the river and the sea were places she still made sure to keep a safe distance from. But with the right words and a warm, safe hug, she would be good to go.

Or at least, she used to be.  
Now, panic seized her all too frequently, oftentimes with reasons beyond coherence. Nightmares and terrors haunted her sleep. And what was worse, Moominmamma could only helplessly watch as her own little beast cried and seized, and begged for some help she was unable to give.

She was crumpling, wilting like a neglected flower, and the more days went by, the more she fell apart.

The one from last night had been the third biggest fit she had since her breakdown. The first one being during her friends' visit, and the other one being with... the Joxter.

Moominmamma’s stomach clenched.  
Collecting her apron in one paw, she hastily climbed up the rest of the staircase, then knocked on the Toffle’s door.

               «...w-who's there?»

               «It’s Moominmamma, dear. May I come in?»

A short pause, then a faint hum.  
The room was dark, thick curtains shielding the light from the barricaded window. Only a few sun rays defied the barrier, seeping through the thin gaps at the edges enough for Moominmamma to notice her child curled up in a heap of blankets in a corner of her bed. Her head hung low, paws fiddling with something.

               «Good morning, Lucy,» Moominmamma began, resting her tray on the table, «Are you feeling better?»

A quiet nod.

               «Oh, I'm glad,» she smiled.  
«Do you mind if I open the curtains a little bit? It’s very dark in here, you see.»

Another nod, and once taking care of the task she then picked up the cup of tea and sat down by her child.

With now better lighting she could notice the dark circles under her eyes, along with the dreadfully pale complexion under a tousled mop of hair.  
In her paws, the object of her attention; none other than Cedric, Sniff’s old plush dog. Moominpappa found it torn and broken in a corner of the room nights ago, and it laid forgotten on the bedside table until that moment.

Tiny, delicate fingers trailed on the frayed edges, above spilled stuffing, lingering where black buttons once were sewn. Then, she finally lowered it on the mattress, hiding her paws back under the covers.

               «I—» she whimpered, «I ruined it.»

               «Oh, dear... it’s nothing that cannot be fixed. He will be good as new once we sew it back together.»

The Toffle shook her head, then curled up on herself more.

               «I ruined it,» she repeated, «It’s broken. It’s... my fault.»

Moominmamma crooned.

               «It’s alright, love. I promise, he will be better.»  
She reached out to the tattered plush and delicately set it aside, «Look. I made you tea,» she offered.  
«Would you like some?»

Another shake of her head, and with it the mother placed the cup back on the tray.

               «Not even some oatmeal? It’s good,» she tried again.

               «...I'm not hungry.»

Moominmamma decided to let go.  
She sat back down on the bed.

               «I know you may not want to talk about this, but,» she began tentatively, eyes on her child's pale nose behind the thick covers, «you know, Moominpappa and I had a short chat last night.»

The Toffle tensed, and Moominmamma's paw reached behind her back, rubbing comforting circles.

               «...I didn’t mean to—»

               «I know. You were scared. It’s okay.»

A nod, and sniffling turned into quiet whimpers. Then tiny paws reached up to her eyes, and finally the little one cried. But Moominmamma’s steady rhythm never faltered.  
She stroked her daughter’s back, murmuring comforting words with each rub. Up. Down. Up. And down.

               «Shhh... it’s alright. It’s alright, dear,» Moominmamma reassured, a soft smile on her lips, «Pappa didn’t mean to scare you. He was only very concerned.»

The little one faintly nodded, then sniffled.

               «I'm sorry.»

               «Oh, no, love. There’s nothing to be sorry about,» Moominmamma chuckled, shifting a lock of hair from her daughter's eyes, «But see, we are worried for you. You're our child... we want to protect you.»

Another nod.

               «But... » Moominmamma's paw came to a halt, pensive. «You see, dear... in order to watch over you, we need to know if something bad happened to you.»

The Toffle shifted, but said nothing in response. Moominmamma leaned in.

               «Lucy...?»

Upon being called, the little one finally turned to her mother.

               «...has someone been inappropriate to you?»

Wide, sky blue eyes stared into amber, and silence fell in the room.  
Tears welled up, and her brow trembled. Then, at last, two resolute nods.

Moominmamma’s heart sank into her stomach.  
A painful shiver shot down her spine, all the way down to the tip of her tail, and for a moment she felt as if all the air was punched out of her lungs.

_Who? When?  
How could they be so blind not to notice?_

So many questions filled her thoughts. Questions to which she wanted to hear no answer.  
She took a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

               «I see,» she murmured, resuming her motions on the Toffle’s back.  
She forced herself to stay calm; the one who needed most comfort now was her child.

«Thank you for telling me, dear,» she added, nuzzling the side of her face, «it wasn’t easy. I appreciate it.»

Lucy stared silently into space, swaying sideways with each rub on her back. She merely sat there like an old doll, and Moominmamma felt her chest tighten at how miserable her poor child had gotten in so little time.

               «Mamma...?»

               «Hm?»

               «...do I smell bad to you?»

Moominmamma paused, then looked down at her child.

               «Why, of course not, dear. Why is that?»

               «...everything smells bad to me. I wash, change clothes... and it still reeks.»

The mother’s brow tensed in a frown, but did not dare to interrupt. She was opening up, at last.  
She needed support. She needed help.

               «No, love, you don’t smell bad. You're as fresh and clean as a little beast can get.»

               «...would you still love me if I weren't?»

Moominmamma squeezed her child’s paw, «Of course I would.»

               «Mhm.»

Soft rustling followed from underneath her covers, and the Toffle shifted again.

               «...has Moominpappa ever hurt you?»

Moominmamma stopped in her tracks.  
_What?_

               «No, dear,» she responded, «Moominpappa may act silly at times, but he is a loving and considerate husband.»

               «...well, Snorkmaiden, then.»

A pause followed, in which Moominmamma dreaded to open her mouth. What was she implying...?

               «Quite the opposite,» she countered.  
«He would protect Snorkmaiden if someone tried to hurt her.»

Then, silence.  
But Moominmamma knew the conversation was not quite done. She could feel there was more Lucy wanted to say. And she waited, even as the shifting increased, and the rustling had gotten more noticeable.

It was when the Toffle bit her lower lip that the mother spoke up.

               «...are you alright, dear?»

A whimper, and with it she pulled the covers away from her daughter’s shoulders in concern.

The sight before her eyes only added to her anguish; with both knees up to her chest and toes curled, the poor little one's paws palmed and fisted at her privates, hips squirming in obvious discomfort.

               «...what's wrong? Do you hurt?»

The Toffle nodded awkwardly, and Moominmamma bristled.  
No... it couldn't be.

It took every ounce of her composure not to falter in front of her daughter once she was allowed to check her out. Bloomers were removed, and no amount of self-assurance seemed to be enough to prepare her for what came next. If the fresh stains on the white cotton weren't eloquent enough, the inflamed red color on her inner thighs and sore labia spoke by itself.  
The poor thing must have been in so much pain.

“I need you to spread your legs a little more, dear” she then instructed, and with it, horror struck.

This... was beyond anything they could fathom.  
It wasn't anywhere close to someone beating a child. This was... wicked. Evil. _Sick_.

Things like this did not happen in Moominvalley.  
Moominvalley was a safe haven for all... a land of peace.

She froze, looking up at her daughter.  
The poor little one held the hem of her nightgown up to her chest, tugging nervously at the ruffles. Her eyes were sore, filled with tears.

               « _I'm sorry..._ »

Oh.  
All the times she apologized... it wasn't for being ill, or for causing trouble... _it was for this_.

               «I— I tried, Mamma,» her voice broke, «I really did— I c-called for help, but... n-no one came. I— had no way out…»

               « _Hush, please..._ »

She could have screamed, but all that came out was a choked plea.  
It was no nightmare to wake from, this time. This was very real, crude and raw in front of her eyes.  
Someone... someone forced themselves on her daughter. Someone _assaulted_ her.  
And what was worse, the poor thing endured it all alone.

 _How could they be so blind?  
_ Sorrow seized her, and her paws began shaking.

_Not now, Moominmamma.  
She needs you._

               «It’s— not your fault, Lucy,» she forced a smile, fighting back tears, «you’re safe now… come here.»

She opened her arms, and her poor little one threw herself in her hold, bursting into tears.  
More details spewed out of her mouth in-between sobs, together with words she shouldn't have known. She apologized over and over like a broken record, spilling out all the anguish she kept bottled up for all that time.

And then, _‘he said Snufkin would have done the same...’_

_...it **was** Joxter._

               «Lucy... when? When did all this happen?»

The Toffle coughed harshly, «W-when I was c-coming back from Mymble’s...»

Moominmamma felt on the verge of collapsing.  
Two weeks. The poor child had been holding this in for two weeks... all the pieces fell into place.

_Her sudden sickness._   
_Her constant fear._   
_Her nausea, her panic, her guilt._

And now, her constant need to relieve herself.  
That hideous infection had been growing worse each day for two weeks. She required immediate care.

               «It will be alright, love... I've got you now. You’ll be safe...»  
Her head spun, «...but we— need to get you sorted now, okay? I will get some ointment to help you with the itch. Everything will be alright...»

It was on shaky legs that she forced herself down the mattress and out of her daughter’s bedroom. And once in the corridor, everything came crashing down on her. Fear choked her, pain crippled her.  
_Moominpappa needed to know._

And with that thought, she staggered forward and up to the sky-blue room, forcing herself forward only for her own child's sake.  
Her vision got blurry with tears she couldn't quite shed yet as she reached the door. And finally she swung it open without knocking, meeting her husband's tormented gaze.

               «... _M-Moominpappa_.»


End file.
